Dragon Age: Origins
by The Last Writer of Thedas
Summary: When travelling south to Ostagar, Duncan recruited not one, but two souls to join the Grey Warden ranks. One was a warrior of noble birth, destined for greatness. The other, a talented mage with ambitions beyond the Circle. When Loghain betrays King Cailan and the Grey Wardens, will they be able to save Ferelden and all of Thedas?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**  
On the Eve of Battle

He had spent the last few days attempting to not be angry at his father for commanding him to stay behind and mind the castle. Malcolm was a young man of twenty-three now, second in line for the teyrnship after his brother Fergus. Despite being four years his senior, Fergus was the most stately of the two brothers – one more to use words than the blade of a sword. Malcolm could be called quite his opposite – rash, impulsive, and daring to the point of exasperation. But as far as fighting skill went, Malcolm knew well that he had his older brother beat.

Needless to say, the young warrior was most displeased at being left behind.

As duty dictated, however, he would stay behind and see to it that the affairs of the Couslands in Highever would be managed. After all, with both the Teyrn and his immediate heir off to battle, someone had to.

"At least the smell will be the same!" The voice and laughter of his father greeted him as he made his way into the entrance hall to greet their guest, Arl Howe, as per tradition. "I'm sorry, pup; I didn't see you there. Howe, you remember my son?"

"I see he's grown into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again, lad." The sharp features of Arl Rendon Howe met his. Malcolm knew that those beady eyes were those of a friend, one who had stood alongside the Couslands to defend and serve Ferelden for quite some time.

But when Rendon Howe looked at him, Malcolm couldn't keep a little shiver from going down his spine.

"And you, Arl Howe."

"My daughter Delilah asked after you. Perhaps I should bring her next time." The elder man said cheerfully.

Malcolm remembered Delilah. She was a stunning woman...but never really much his type. Unfortunately he had the pressure of both the Arl and his parents..."hinting" that this might be a good path for him, so he supposed he would have to play the bit for the time being.

"I'd like that."

"Good! She goes on about your prowess as a warrior!" The Arl gave a cheerful laugh. "I think you've got an admirer, young man!" Perhaps Delilah's disposition toward him had changed since he had last seen her.

Malcolm remembered, two summers ago, when he'd been in the company of both his father and brother in Amaranthine for a tournament. At the time, Delilah hadn't seemed at all impressed. Perhaps that had changed.

"At any rate, pup," His father spoke up, breaking him from his reverie, "I summoned you for a reason. While your borther and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

"Is that really necessary?" Malcolm fought the urge to groan at his father's words, knowing it would do him no good at this point to protest.

"This is no needless task. I ask you to take on a great responsibility." The teyrn said, stern as ever. "Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?"

Malcolm only nodded.

"There's also someone you must meet. Please...show Duncan in." Malcolm blinked, unaware that they had another visitor, turning to see as the man entered from the other side of the hall. He was tall, dressed in white robes that Malcolm thought marked him as a mage until he recognized the armor and the two and dagger at the man's back.

His raven black hair was arranged into a ponytail, and his complexion clear as his dark eyes looked out at the world about him. They were dark, like Howe's, but they had a warmth to them that Howe's did not have. Looking into Howe's eyes were like looking into a starless night, pitch black and cold, not the feeling that this man gave at all.

An exuberance, tempered by wisdom. Malcolm had to wonder, if he had met the man sooner, if that light would have been even stronger.

"It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland." The man's voice was deep, rich.

"Your lordship," Howe sputtered out, clearly as unprepared for the new arrival as Malcolm had been, "you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

"Duncan arrived recently, unannounced." Bryce Cousland gave a auditory shrug. "Is there a problem?"

"Of course not," A moment later, that surprise seemed to fade off as Howe continued with a laugh, "but a guest of this stature demands certain protocols. I am...at a disadvantage."

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that's true. Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?"

"They defeated the darkspawn long ago." Malcolm replied almost automatically. He had not exactly been a model student, but when it came to tales of great battles and brave heroes, Malcolm paid apt attention to his tutor.

"Not permanently, I fear." Duncan spoke up.

"Without their warning of the darkspawn rising now, half the nation could have been overrun before we'd had a chance to react." Bryce brought up. Malcolm knew that was true enough from the tales he had heard. The Blights came when the darkspawn, tunneling down in the Deep Roads, unearthed an archdemon. The Grey Wardens had always been the ones to fight such beasts when they rose, always in battles to the bitter end.

Epic, grand in scale, a battle that would make any warrior a living legend.

"Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore." Malcolm knew Ser Gilmore, his father's commander and one of the bravest knights that Highever had to offer. He would certainly be a good choice to be a Grey Warden, there was no doubt in Malcolm's mind.

"If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your son is also an excellent candidate." Duncan said, and Malcolm stared as he looked back to him. _Him_? A Grey Warden? It was most definitely an interesting prospect, thinking of the conflict he would see. Fighting alongside others to battle the terrible horde of darkspawn and send them screaming back to the Deep Roads.

Putting his blade through the neck of the archdemon and standing on its bloodied and beaten corpse before a cheering crowd as he was proclaimed the hero of the age! He could not hide the light from his eyes at the thought.

"Honor though that might be, this is one of my sons we're talking about." Bryce said pointedly, emphasizing his point by moving to stand from Duncan's right to between him and his youngest son.

"Is there some reason I _shouldn't_ join them?" Malcolm blurted out.

"You did just finish saying how the Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend." Howe put in his two coppers.

"I've not so many children that that I'll gladly see them all off to battle. Unless you indeed to invoke the Right of Conscription?" Bryce asked. Malcolm knew of that, as well. In the lands where they were revered, the Grey Wardens could invoke the Right of Conscription to recruit anyone they saw fit – from the lowiest beggar to the highest of Kings. Duncan could literally walk into the palace of Denerim and conscript King Cailan himself into their ranks.

"Have no fear," Duncan said, his hands raised in a gesture of placation to the teyrn, "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue." Malcolm fought to keep the disappointment from his face. His one chance to see some action...gone. '_Easy come, easy go, I guess..._' Malcolm thought.

Seemingly pleased with that answer, Bryce turned once more and took the spot he had stood in before. "Pup, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

"Of course," Malcolm replied.

"In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me." Bryce said.

"But I'm not done talking to you..."

"We'll talk before I leave tomorrow." Bryce said, with a tone that said there would be no argument on the matter. "We must discuss the battle plans in the south. Be a good lad and do as I've asked. We'll talk soon."

That was always what he'd been told. Talk soon. Despite Duncan's statement, Malcolm knew he wasn't going to be a Grey Warden or even get to go to battle...not this time. Giving a respectful bow to both Arl Howe and Duncan, Malcolm departed the way he'd come to go and seek his brother.

"They you are!" A familiar voice caught his attention, and Malcolm turned in time to see the familiar strawberry blonde haired figure in a fine suit of chain run up to him. "Your mother told me the teyrn had summoned you, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"Hello to you, too, Ser Gilmore." Malcolm said, looking to the man who had done quite a bit of his training in combat. Though only a few years older than he, Malcolm knew that Ser Gilmore had more than proven he was worthy of his status as a Knight of Highever.

"Pardon my manners, my lord." Gilmore replied hastily. "It's simply that I've been looking all over the castle for you." Before Malcolm could ask why, he continued. "I fear your hound has the kitchens in uproar once again. Nan is threatening to leave."

'_Clavicus..._' Malcolm sighed as the thought of his Mabari crossed his mind. "Did the dog get into the larder again?" He asked, knowing that that could be the only thing that could have raised Nan's ire so.

"No matter how the maids try to keep him out, he always finds a way in."

"I suppose I should go and collect him, then."

"That would be wise, before Nan tears down the castle walls." Gilmore said. "You know these mabari hounds. They listen only to their master, anyone else risks having an arm bitten off. At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled. Shall we?"

"To the kitchen, then." Malcolm said, turning to head off that way with his companion.

"Just follow the yelling." Gilmore joked as the two headed that way. When Nan was unhappy, everybody knew by that. A few moments passed as they headed down the stone path to the kitchens, where the bent, old frame of Nan was berating two Elvhen servants.

"Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!" Nan snapped.

"But mistress, he won't let us near!" The female elf protested. She looked shaken, more than a little terrified at the prospect of dealing with the hound. Malcolm guessed she had been in there once already.

"If I can't get into that larder, I'll skin both of you useless elves, I swear it!" Nan was non-plussed by her plea, and her ire still more than a little raised by the mutt rolling around through the larders.

"Err...calm down, good woman. We've come to help..." Gilmore began gently, but was immediately cut off as the old woman spun around to face the knight and the young lord.

"You! And you! Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!" Nan raved, turning her attention from Gilmore to Malcolm now.

"I'm sorry he's bothering you, Nan." Malcolm said, his hands raised in a supplicating manner. Nan had been his nanny growing up, hence the nickname that she still bore to this day. She'd been with the family for years and Malcolm had learned quickly that the best approach was to do what she said...quickly.

She had no fear or reverance that she faced two armed warriors. And she certainly had no patience for Clavicus's antics.

"Just get him gone!" Nan snapped. "I've enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers!" Without waiting for a response, she spun around to look back at the elvhen servants. "You two! Stop standing there like idiots! Get out of the way!" They moved quickly, leaving the wooden door to the larder before them.

Malcolm came in first, Gilmore behind him, and they caught sight of the almond brown Mabari that had become a constant companion of Malcolm's sniffing the stone floor and pacing about the room. He did not even seem to notice the pair of men who had just entered, barking at some sacks lined up against the wall.

"Look at that mess," Gilmore sighed, "How did he even get in here?" At the knight's voice, Clavicus seemed to notice and turned, barking happily and wagging his tail at the sight of his owner.

"...are you trying to tell me something, boy?" Malcolm asked right after Clavicus barked yet again. With that, the beast barked excitedly, spinning around on the spot.

"He does seem like he's trying to tell you something." Gilmore spoke up, then stopped, cocking his head slightly to the side. "Wait, do you hear that?"

Malcolm did not have time to answer, but had heard nothing until he heard the squeaking of...rats! Coming from the corners of the room, they seemed frenzied and charged at opponents several times their size. The predictable response came as Malcolm, Gilmore, and Clavicus took to exterminating them.

A few minutes later, Clavicus was barking merrily and covered in blood, while both Malcolm and Gilmore were checking their blades for knicks. "Giant rats...it's like every bad adventure story my grandfather used to tell."

"Maybe it was just a coincidence?" Malcolm asked.

"Doubtful. Look at the garbage they got into...your hound doesn't eat like that. He's much more finicky." Gilmore said, a statement that Malcolm knew to be true, despite the almost skeptical-sounding growl from the hound. "But seeing as you've got your mabari well in hand, I'll be on my way. I'm to prepare for the arrival of more of the arl's men."

A wonderful reminder that killing some rats in a larder was likely going to be the most action he would see. '_Thanks, Ser Gilmore. Thanks a lot_.'

"Thanks, Ser Gilmore." Malcolm said nonetheless for the assistance in the bout and as Gilmore left to further attend to his duties, Malcolm walked out of the larder with Clavicus.

Of course, the charming face of Nan was there to greet them. "There he is, as brazen as you please, licking his chops after helping himself to the roast, no doubt!"

"Actually, he was defending your larder from rats." Malcolm said once his former nanny took a pause in breath. "Big ones."

"W-what?" The elvhen serving woman spoke up. "Rats? Not the large, gray ones?"

Malcolm nodded.

"They'll rip you to shreds, they will!" The male elvhen spoke up.

"See? Now you've gone and scared the servants!" Nan sighed. Malcolm knew it was really a no-win scenario. He was more concerned with just getting himself and his Mabari out with their skin intact. "I expect those filthy things are dead?"

"My faithful war hound made sure it's safe." Malcolm couldn't resist embellishing it a bit. Clavicus had, after all, been the first to know that any rats were _there_ to be attacked.

Nan just sighed dismissively. "I bet that dog led those rats into there to begin with." Clavicus cocked his head to the side, issuing a pitiful whine. "Oh, don't even start with the sad eys! I'm immune to your so-called charms." Another whine, and Nan sighed. "Here, then," She took some meat that had been taken from the pork roast and tossed it onto the floor before the dog, "And don't say that Nan never gives you anything! Bloody dog."

Clavicus's jaws closed upon the meat, loudly chewing and swallowing the chunks before issuing a satisfied bark. Nan looked back to Malcolm. "Thank you, m'lord. Now we can get back to work." With that, she turned to give orders to the serving staff and Malcolm did not need to be told twice to get out of the kitchens.

This was his home, he'd grown up here and knew every part of Highever Castle like the back of his hand. So it was nothing at all once he left the kitchens to head up the path towards the rooms of himself, his brother, and his parents. Along the way, however, the sight of Eleanor Cousland and three others she spoke with got his attention.

"...and my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year." His mother was saying. "The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand and mistook Bryce for the king." The four shared a laugh at that as Malcolm approached with his Mabari companion. "Ah, here is my younger son. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchen is handled?"

Eleanor always acted as though she were disdainful of Clavicus, but Malcolm knew all too well that she had a fondness for the hound that rivalled his own. "Yes, Mother. Nan is back to work as we speak." He said, deciding not to speak of the rats he and Ser Gilmore had encountered whilst in polite company (and hopeful said company was not aware of the blood on his boots).

"You've always had a way with her. Darling, do you remember Lady Landra? Bann Loren's wife?" Eleanor asked, turning to her companion in the yellow dress. It was a woman of about Eleanor's age, an old friend of hers that Malcolm recognized straight away.

"I think we last met at your mother's spring salon." Lady Landra brought up, though Malcolm did not need the jogging of his memory. He remembered the woman had a bit too much wine and was making comments of a...sallacious...nature to him before the end.

He decided it wouldn't be proper to bring _that_ up in polite company either. "Of course, it's good to see you again, my lady." Malcolm gave a proper greeting of a sharp incline of the head towards her.

"You're too kind, dear boy. Didn't I spend half the salon shamelessly filrting with you?"

'_A bit more than half, my lady...'_

"Right in front of your family, too." The voice of the only other man standing in the area came up, someone Malcolm recognized a little better when he pictured him out of the robes of nobility, into combat armor, and with a blunted sword in hand.

"You remember my son, Dairren? I believe you two sparred in the last tourney." Landra spoke up at her son's words. Malcolm, of course, remembered quite well. Dairren was a fair hand with a sword, that was not exactly where he was most proficient.

"And you beat me handily, as I recall. It's good to see you again, my lord." Dairren gave a bow his head, this time towards him.

"And you, Dairren." Malcolm said, not wishing to appear unfriendly.

"And this is my lady-in-waiting, Iona." Landra gestured to the third woman, and Malcolm realized why she – standing a bit shorter than either Lady Landra or his mother – stood out so distinctly. She was an elf. Blonde hair neatly arranged into braids, coming down to just above the shoulder, sparkling blue eyes that were as amazing clear as a flawless sapphire...and a surprising amount of curves for an elf. "Do say something, dear."

"It is a great honor, my lord." Iona spoke up. "I have heard many wonderful things about you."

"Don't look now, Eleanor, but I believe the girl has a crush on your lad." Landra half-turned to Eleanor in a conspiratiorial whisper that was not, in fact, a whisper.

"Lady Landra!" Iona's cheeks flushed bright pink.

"Hush, Landra. You'll turn the poor thing scarlet." Eleanor chuckled.

"Perhaps we should speak alone sometime, Iona?" Malcolm blurted out, getting his mother staring at him and a surprised look from both Iona and Dairren.

"As it...pleases you, my lord." Iona's cheeks were no less flushed, but she's quickly mastered the stammer in her voice.

"I think, perhaps, I shall rest now, my dear." Landra spoke up, getting Eleanor's attention away from his son's words and back onto the here and now. "Dairren, I will see you and Iona at supper."

"Perhaps we'll retire to the study for now." Dairren offered. Iona nodded to follow him, both giving their bows to the teyrna and her son before leaving.

"Good evening, your Lordship." Lady Landra bowed as well before turning to speak with Eleanor once more. "Oh, Eleanor, I just remembered..."

"That is a wonderful dog! He seems very noble and intellegent." Iona's voice came, and Malcolm realized that she had stopped and was now petting Clavicus, who seemed all too happy for the attention as her head brushed through the fur at the top of his head.

'_Best wingman you could ask for._' Malcolm thought as Clavicus wagged his tongue happily.

"Greetings once again, my lord." Iona said, realizing who she was speaking to, withdrawing her hand from the dog's head. Clavicus, his part played, walked around in a circle once before flopping unceremoniously to the stone floor.

"Good evening." Malcolm said with a smile, fairly certain it was getting close enough to supper to call it the evening. "You are _very_ pretty, if I might say so."

"My lord is very kind." Iona said, the pink in her cheeks becoming more prominent as she accepted the compliment. "Thank you."

"I think we should get to know each other better." Malcolm said.

"Aren't we doing just that?" Iona asked. "What else did you have in mind?" Her body posture, however, was far more open...inviting. She knew exactly what he meant, but had no wish to speak above her station - or, at the very least, that was the impression that Malcolm received.

He wasn't sure _exactly_ why beyond the physical, but he found he rather did like Iona. She had a...strangely soothing presence that was more agreeable.

Plus, a teyrn's son involved with an elf? Oh, how the tongues would wag...

"Something...more intimate, later on in my room?" He suggested. Again, Iona's cheeks were flushed. This time, nearly full on red as Eleanor had warned Landra a moment earlier. Even so, a smile was on her lips as she stammered once more. "I...I see. I think I might like that."

Malcolm smiled broadly.

"If I come to your door once everyone is asleep...would that be agreeable, my lord?" Iona asked.

"Please, call me Malcolm." The young lord said.

"Until tonight, then." Iona said, going off now with a bit of a happier stride in her step, Lady Landra tailing after her following the discussion of whatever she and Eleanor had spoken of.

With that, Malcolm turned to his mother.

"You should say goodbye to Fergus while you have the chance." She told him.

"Did you know there's a Grey Warden here?" Malcolm asked, without so much as waiting, so giddy at the thought.

"Yes, your father mentioned that." Eleanor said, then her look turned from neutral into a far more suspicious one, even – dare Malcolm say – twinged with a little fear behind her eyes. "You haven't gotten it into your head that you want to be recruited?"

"Father wouldn't allow it."

"Nor I. And I do realize that you didn't answer my question." Eleanor told her youngest son pointedly. "There's enough here at the castle to occupy you. I don't need you off chasing danger like your brother."

"Why _can't_ I go with Father and Fergus?" Malcolm asked, disdainful of the whole business. He wanted nothing more than to be riding alongside his father and brother and going out to kill the dreaded darkspawn. He had no less right to fight than either of them, or any of the soldiers that they'd be taking with them.

"I know it's difficult to stay in the castle and watch others ride off, but we must see to our duties first." Eleanor told him, her authoritative tone reaffirming Malcolm's belief that he would get nowhere in trying to negotiate. The argument was over before it had even happened. "You understand that, don't you?"

He wanted to say that he could make a difference, wanted to bring up the question of what would happened if they fell without him out there. But he knew it was all fruitless, all of it. Even if he could convince his father, Eleanor Cousland was an iron rod. She would not bend or break and he would have to live with it.

"Yes, I understand." The youngest Cousland said, defeated.

"Trust me, you'll get your chance for excitement soon enough." His mother told him.

'_Sure, sure...plenty of songs are written about the ones who stayed home while everyone else went off to fight. Thanks, Mother...thanks a lot._'

"I should go." Malcolm said, not voicing his thoughts once more – a tactic he had picked up from his time with Nan.

"I love you, my darling boy. You know that, don't you?" Eleanor asked him.

"I'm hardly a boy any longer, Mother." Malcolm said, a token bit of defiance coming. Not as much as he would have liked, but it was enough.

"Indeed." Eleanor said nonetheless cheerfully. "I turned around and here you are, a fine man in your own right. But that doesn't mean I have to like it." She gave a smile. "Go do what you must, then. I will see you soon."

"Goodbye, Mother." Dismissed, Malcolm made his way up the stone path to their rooms. He stepped through to the hall that branched off into the rooms of himself, his brother's, and his parents'. Fergus was, as expected, speaking to his wife Oriana and their son, Oren.

"Is there really gonna be a war, papa? Will you bring me back a sward?" Oren, his nephew, was asking. Oren reminded Malcolm of himself at the ripe old age of seven. Adventurous, rash, and not quite knowing when to be all that quiet. '_Well, one of those three things changed about me, anyway..._' He thought, amused, as he stepped in to hear the conversation.

"That's _sword_, Oren. And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. I'll be back before you know it." Fergus laughed, squatting down to ruffle his son's brunette locks of hair.

"I wish victory was indeed so certain." Oriana spoke up. "My heart is...disquiet."

"Don't frighten the boy, love. I speak the truth." Fergus said. His eyes turned to see Malcolm entering the room. "And here's my littel brother to see me off." He said, standing and turning to face him, a half-turn to his wife brought some more words. "Now dry your tears, love, and wish me well."

"No darkspawn could harm Fergus!" Malcolm laughed, clapping his brother on the shoulder, reinforcing the boundless optimism that Fergus was trying to instill in Oren.

"He is as mortal as anyone, despite his refusal to believe." Oriana was, needless to say, less than amused.

"Now love, no need to be grim." Fergus chided.

"I bring a message," Malcolm interrupted, "Father wants you to leave without him."

"Then the arl's men _are_ delayed." Fergus sighed. "You'd think his men were all walking backwards...well, I'd better get underway. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time!" That was one credit Malcolm had to give his older brother. Even if Fergus was not on par with him, when Malcolm heard him speak of defeating the darkspawn, he _believed_ the man could charge right up to the horde and end them himself.

When you were Fergus Cousland, why in the Void did you _need_ an army?

"Off we go, then." Fergus said, gently taking his wife's shoulders into his hands. "I'll see you soon, my love." Oriana said nothing further, just embraced her husband as though she were trying to memorize the very feel of his body, seeing as he would be gone for such a time.

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking you leave?" Bryce Cousland's voice travelled in from the hall as he and Eleanor came into the room.

Eleanor came up, a hand resting against the pauldron-less shoulder of her eldest son. "Be well, my son. I will pray for your safety every day you are gone."

"Fergus will be fine." Malcolm did his best to reassure his mother.

"I keep telling you that, no darkspawn will ever best me." Fergus laughed away their mother's worries much as he had his wife's.

"The Maker sustain and preserve us all. Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us." Oriana recited a bit of a prayer.

"And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it!" Fergus blurted out, earning a laugh from Malcolm, a chuckle from Bryce, and exasperatedly looks from both Oriana and Eleanor. "Err...for the men, of course."

"Fergus! You would say this in front of your _mother_?" Oriana was aghast as her husband's sudden crudeness.

"What's a wench?" Oren, who had been forgotten until that moment, spoke up and got the attention of the others in the room. "Is that waht you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"

Adorably, adorably naive. He would learn.

"A wench," Bryce spoke to his grandson, "is a woman that pours the ale in a tavern, Oren. Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale."

"Bryce!" Eleanor's exasperation at her eldest son's, and now her' husband's, words was not yet done. "Maker's breath, I swear it's like living with a pack of small boys!"

"I'll miss you, Mother dear." Fergus chuckled, embracing his mother. "You'll take care of her, Malcolm, won't you?" He asked once the hug had broken off.

"You can count on me." Malcolm said. Another wonderful bracing slap back to reality, the fact that he would be here to help take care of her...and not out on the field of battle once more. '_I could use some ale from a tavern about now..._' He mused to himself.

"Oh, good. How thrilling to know I'm so well-taken care of." Eleanor said, with no vague hints of sarcasm in her tone.

'_You're really not making it better, Mother._' Malcolm thought.

"Enough, enough. Pup, you'll want to get an early night." Bryce broke off the argument before it could happen. "You've much to do tomorrow."

"Right, of course." Malcolm said, nodding. "Good bye, Fergus." He said, as one final goodbye to his brother. "And the rest, I'll see you at supper." Malcolm then turned on his heel, Clavicus at his heels, and left the room.

* * *

**A/N:** And, at just over 5,100 words, Chapter One is concluded. Yay. Yes, the Origins are important to set up the backstories and motivations. Yes, there's going to be more than one. Two, in fact, that I have planned, merging the two opposing Wardens I had in _Origins_ into one story, so that I might be able to use it in later stories as well.

And yes, this story _will_ follow the same story as Origins, but there will be some differences as we go on. I'll do my best to get as evenly balanced with the companions and such as possible, as well as some of the NPCs to be encountered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**  
Couslands Falling

The night was uneventful. Supper was the kitchen staff's usual excellent offerings, along with Lady Landra discussing the season's latest fashions with Eleanor and Bryce speaking with Arl Howe about troop movements and plans for the next morning. Malcolm sat at the table only really making conversation when prompted and was in rather low spirits...until he noticed Iona making eyes at him from further down the table.

Needless to say, _after_ supper was far more agreeable.

She came, as she said she would to the door, knocking gently. He opened it, giving her entrance.

"Greetings again, my lord..." Iona spoke softly. "...Malcolm."

"There you go. Wasn't so hard, was it?" Malcolm asked with a smile. "Might I offer you a drink?" He said, turning and offering from a small bottle of wine he had procured from the larders following dinner.

"My lord...this is...a surprise." Iona said. "I am honored."

"Nonsense," Malcolm said, "Have to be a good host, you know." Taking one of the two goblets he had likewise taken from the kitchens and pouring her a drink, offering it to her.

"Thank you." She said, carefully grasping

"Don't thank me yet, it might taste horrible." Malcolm joked as he poured his own drink, lifting it up. "To...us?" He offered meekly, they clinked glasses gently and drank, their voices kept low. Certainly the walls of the castle were by no means thin and they had added protection with the door closed, but noises could carry.

She sipped the dark red liquid as he did so. "It tastes very good, my Lor-Malcolm."

"I'm glad you think so, I've never been able to tell the difference, personally." Malcolm said with a light chuckle.

"It's an Orlesian vintage, isn't it?" Iona asked.

"I...think so." Malcolm said, glancing to the bottle again. "Something left over from the occupation, I believe."

"Well, the loss of the Orlesians is our gain tonight, I think." The elf gave a sweet smile.

"Yes, I suppose it is." Malcolm replied, taking another sip.

"Are you well? You seem...distracted." Iona had a look of concern twist her brow slightly as she looked at him.

"I'm sorry." Malcolm said, setting his goblet down upon the steamer trunk he had near the door. "I just keep thinking to tomorrow's events...and those of the next few months." As Iona seemed to be listening, he continued. "I should not be forced to remain here...like this. I should be going to Ostagar with my father and brother. I love them both dearly, but I know I'm far more skilled with the sword than my brother, and my father is not the warrior he once was."

"You feel your talents are being wasted?" Iona asked.

"Yes." Malcolm replied without hesitation. "I love my family, I really do. I don't know what I'd do without them, but...mother especially insists far too much on coddling me." He sat down on the bed at the side. "And now I'm stuck here for months..." Not that he expected Iona to have too much sympathy for that. After all, it was his duty. In the end, complaining or not, Malcolm Cousland would always do his duty for family.

He felt her calming hand on his shoulder, his head turning to meet the sapphire crystals of her eyes. "You know...I haven't seen many elven ladies-in-waiting..." It was uncommon, for certain. Not entirely unheard of, but very uncommon. Most of the nobility did not look as well upon the elves as the Couslands were known to.

"Lady Landra has been very good to me." A soft smile came to her lips. "I am lucky." He supposed that that was true enough, given the stigma between humans and elves. They were not treated as well as they ought to be in the settlements of humans, forced into often very overcrowded and poorly maintained Alienages like the one in Denerim and the one here in Highever as well. Malcolm remembered he had been there once, both to the one in Denerim and the one here, and Highever's was far better, if only because it was far less packed.

"If I may...your mother has no ladies-in-waiting, herself. Is that usual for a noblewoman of her rank?" Iona asked.

"Maybe a little. She's never desired one."

"That is a very Fereldan attitude, I think, to be so self-sufficient." She wasn't wrong there. The Couslands were very much the model of all that it was to be Fereldan.

"How did you come to know Lady Landra?" Malcolm asked, curious to know her better.

"My family has been in service to hers for many years." Iona was only too happy to tell. "Lady Landra elevated my place as a reward for our loyalty. I hope this position might pass to my daughter."

"You have a daughter?" Malcolm asked. That would explain why she had more curves to her body than most elvhen, having gone through the rigors of childbearing and birth.

"Forgive me...I shouldn't have mentioned her." Iona's cheeks blushed for a very different reason as she looked away.

"Tell me about her." Malcolm said. Iona looked back to him, seeing that he was genuinely curious.

"Her...name is Amethyne. Her father died of a wasting sickness two years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He gave his condolences as was proper.

"Thank you. He is with the Maker now." She replied as was customary of the Andrastian faith.

"I bet she has your beautiful eyes." Malcolm said, leaning forward slightly.

"She...does." Iona said, cheeks still flushed. "Many people say she looks a great deal like me...I am the only one who sees her father in her."

"Reminds me of Oren a little..." Malcolm said.

"Lord Fergus's son?"

"Oh, yes," Malcolm gave a light laugh, "He got his mother's eyes and nothing else. Pretty much everything else came from Fergus." As much as thinking of his rambuncious nephew put a smile on his face, it was once again dampened by the thought of his brother being gone, and tomorrow his father, while he was left behind.

"You know..." Iona said. "Lady Landra will be staying for a few days yet before we return to the estate." Malcolm half-remembered some of the conversation at dinner, Eleanor mentioning that she would travel with them. She had said something about not wanting to undermine his authority during his brief tenure as an acting teyrn. "Perhaps, for those days, I could make your nights more...agreeable."

"How so?" Malcolm asked, and suddenly has her lips upon his.

* * *

It was some time later that he stirred, waking to Clavicus barking. Malcolm barely felt the weight of the elvhen maid sleeping atop him, even less as she now had no clothes to add to it. The pair of them had been quite occupied in the last few hours.

Clavicus barked again, Malcolm recognized it as an angry tone. Iona rose, and then so did he, getting back into his bedclothes. The elf, likewise, had redressed into her smalls.

"Your hound is making so much noise!" She whispered, worry twinging her tone. "He seems so angry!" Malcolm went over it in his mind. Clavicus was right at the door, beady eyes fixed on it as he growled and gnashed his jaws. He wouldn't be barking for no reason, Malcolm knew only too well. After all, he was a purebred Mabari, not some mangy mutt.

"Perhaps something is wrong." Malcolm said as he immediately turned to his steamer trunk, retrieving his leather armor and beginning to get himself into it.

"I thought I heard yelling when I woke up, but now I hear nothing." Iona said. Clavicus continued to bark in spite of Iona's words, never moving from where he faced the door. "I'm going to see if someone's in the hall." Her slender frame moved toward the door, her hand on the handle just as it was suddenly kicked in, her arm thrown back as she was immediately impacted with an arrow in the neck.

The crimson plume that erupted painted the broken remains of the door as her body slumped to the ground and was still.

Two men in armor entered, no doubt expecting to find a fully armed and armored Malcolm Cousland and his trusty warhound waiting for them. Clavicus leaped into the first who, in his surprise, did not even raise his mace and shield to defend as the dog barreled into him and knocked him onto his back. Over the body of the elf and through the broken door stepped Malcolm with shield in hand and sword drawn.

The archer who had ended Iona's life fired a shot that sunk firmly into hardened wood of the shield. The man did not get a second shot before Malcolm was upon him. His blade knocked the bow from his grasp and a single, fluid swing of his blade brought the man's head cleanly from his shoulders. Malcolm saw two others coming his way and swung around to face them while Clavicus managed the one who had kicked the door in.

More arrows flew, though this time they were against these men rather than from them. As Malcolm cut down one of the men he opposed now, the other was killed rather unceremoniously by a volley of arrows.

Eleanor Cousland had armored herself, and held a longbow with an arrow still notched to the string. "Darling! I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst! Are you hurt?" She asked, coming over once the immediate danger had passed.

"I was about to ask you that!" Malcolm replied, his eyes wide as he did not sheathe his blade, keeping it at the ready.

"They never got through the door, thanks to you!" Malcolm now realized that his mother had come from the room she shared with father. "A scream woke me up. There were men in the hall, so I barred the door." Malcolm, relieved she was alright, took a moment to look at the men, their shields catching his eye.

It was a mighty bear of brown on a field of yellow and white, a standard he knew only too well. Old friends of the Couslands since the days of the occupation, allies who had fought alongside them for as long as memory went back.

"...these are Howe's men!" The realization hit him, his hand clenched against the hilt of his sword as though he would break it.

"Why would they attack us?!" Eleanor was most distraught at the revelation as her youngest son.

"Maybe you want to find Howe and ask him?" Malcolm asked, a dangerous edge on his voice.

"If Howe is behind this, I'll cut his lying throat myself!" Eleanor almost growled, her face contorted with pain and rage. Suddenly, that faded as she voiced a thought that had come to her mind. "Have you seen your father? He never came to bed!"

Malcolm felt his chest tighten. He hadn't even thought of his father and now the man could very well be dead. "Maybe he...maybe he stayed up with Arl Howe." He said, not relishing the thought in the least. If Howe were behind this, Bryce Cousland could very well be dead right now.

"We must find him!" Eleanor replied emphatically. Then, another thought came to Malcolm's mind.

"Oriana! Oren!" Malcolm bolted across the hall to what had once been Fergus's room.

"Andraste's Mercy!" Malcolm wasn't listening as he bolted over, pushing his way through the door and meeting with a terrible sight.

"NO!" Eleanor was sobbing. Oriana was lying on the floor, her body pale and drawn and blood covering her body nearly from head to toe, staining her clothing as well as three very distinct and wide wounds from the blade of a sword having been sent through her.

Lying next to her, as if he had crawled up to try to rouse her from lifeless sleep, was the body of...

"My little Oren!" Eleanor could not stop sobbing as she pushed past Malcolm into the room, falling by the bodies of her daughter-in-law and grandson. "What matter of fiend slaughters _innocents_?!" Her trembling hands touched the stone cold face of the young boy who would never again open his eyes.

Malcolm nearly crumbled against the doorframe, seeing the corpses of his sister-in-law and nephew. They were dead...they were _really_ dead. He kept hoping this was some nightmare, that he would just wake up with Iona in his bed and this whole thing was just one really, really bad dream.

The sobbing of his mother and the sad whimpering of Clavicus told him otherwise.

Sadness, however, quickly gave way to anger as Malcolm entertained the idea of putting a sword through Arl Howe's heart. Repeatedly. "I'll make them _pay_!" He roared, slamming fist against the doorframe.

"Howe's not even taking hostages!" Eleanor was doing her best to control herself once more, attempting to keep the face of the teyrna even in this terrible situation. Malcolm doubted anyone could blame her if she was unable. He certainly couldn't. "Oh...poor Fergus!" Malcolm hadn't thought of his brother, either. He could only hope that he was far enough away that Howe couldn't reach him. "Let's go...I don't...I don't want to see this."

The two quickly made their way out to face more of Howe's men who had been searching the rooms. Fueled by his rage, Malcolm tore into the first easily enough, his blade meeting the man's mace once...twice...three times before his blade swung around and cut off the man's arm at the elbow, a rush with his shield seeing the man sent onto his back. Then the blade came down, going right through the man's chest and spraying out a surprising amount of blood.

"Run." He growled low to the others. They snarled and charged, and he was only too happy to oblige them in their utter stupidity, as were Eleanor and Clavicus.

* * *

Stepping out into the keep, Malcolm was more than ready to face down Howe's entire force if he had to, but that man was going to pay dearly for this. He could hear the fighting, steel clashing and yelling in a deafening raucous not too far off. Howe's men were no doubt dealing with the lessened numbers of the Couslands. They needed help! They needed another blade!

"Howe's men must be everywhere." Eleanor said as they made their way down into the keep proper.

"Then we should take the fight to them!" Malcolm proclaimed, gripping his blade, more than ready to cut down more if he had to. His only thought, his only wish was upon Arl Howe and visiting upon him every pain he could muster.

"Don't be foolish! You would throw your life away!" Eleanor chided him, though Malcolm could tell it was not her usual motherly worry. This was...more. "The front gates. That's where your father must be."

"We can't just let Howe win!" Malcolm snapped back, putting aside his desire to keep the peace and tow the line. This was not him being left behind while others went to fight, this was serious. Deathly serious, and Eleanor needed to realize that.

"Listen, darling. We haven't much time." Eleanor said. "If we can't find your father, _you_ must get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the entire Cousland line dies here." Malcolm understood the necessity of this, of course, but it was the least near thing on his mind at the moment. Howe had to pay, he had to. "If Howe's men are inside, they must already control the castle. We must use the servant's entry in the larder to escape."

If Malcolm were not so angered, he might have remembered sneaking in there as a child more than a few times. Nan had caught him more often than not.

"Do you hear me?!" Eleanor asked, grabbing her son's shoulders and shaking him.

"I want Howe dead!" Malcolm roared at his mother, shaking her even further and immediately regretting snapping at her so. Nevertheless, she relaxed her grasp on his shoulders.

"Then survive and visit vengeance upon him!" Eleanor told her son. Of course! The King! If they could escape, get to King Cailan, he would certainly not allow this to stand. He nodded, leading the way as they headed off to the main hall to, he hoped, find Bryce.

"The castle has fallen!" Malcolm recognized a voice of one of the servants as they turned around the corner, seeing a portly man in commoner's clothing run up to them. "I'm getting out of here!"

"Don't be a coward! Stand and fight!" Malcolm barked at him sharply.

"Y-Yes, my lord!" The man trembled as he took up his blade once more. "Here they come!" The castle was burning, men clashed steel again and again in their frenzied battle as Malcolm, Eleanor, and Clavicus fought their way toward the hall.

"Wait!" Eleanor cried out as Malcolm was charging off. He turned just in time to see her take the necklace that she always wore from around her neck, fingers manipulating the bauble attached to it so that – within a few moments – it resembled a key that Malcolm did not recognize. "We're getting close to the treasury! The Cousland family blade lies inside!" She pressed it into his hand. "That blade cannot fall into Howe's hands. It should sever his treacherous head!"

Malcolm took the key, nodding as he entertained the thoughts of doing just that, heading over to the door that Eleanor had pointed out and entering. Within were the usual guards, and the door that had clearly been picked at but clearly not opened. Malcolm knew that only two keys to the treasury had been made, the one he now carried and one that Bryce kept in a location known only to himself and Eleanor.

Within the treasury were piles of gold, and weapons and armor of the grandest of make. He quickly found the chest that held his family's blade, opening it and taking both it and the Shield of Highever. He decided he would carry them both, make Howe remember just who it was who he had crossed this night.

"Quickly, darling!" Eleanor urged, and Malcolm nodded, foregoing changing his armor due to time and taking his new sword and shield in hand to go out and face Howe's men.

* * *

It was only a short time later that they found themselves in the main hall, aiding Ser Gilmore in holding the front gate. Howe's men were killing two men for every one of theirs that fell and, by the end of it, it was a force of six led by Ser Gilmore who were manning the gates.

"Go! Man the gate!" Ser Gilmore pointed as several came up to follow his orders. "Keep those bastards out as long as you can!" He turned immediately upon seeing Eleanor and Malcolm. "Your Ladyship! My lord! You're both alive!" The relief in his voice was abundantly clear. "I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!"

"Have you seen my father?!" Malcolm asked, throwing the formalities to the wind.

"He was looking for you two. He told us to hold the hall as long as possible." Ser Gilmore reported dutifully. "When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But they won't keep Howe's men out long!"

"We need to go! I know where he'll be!" Eleanor said, grabbing Malcolm's arm once more.

"Wait!" Malcolm insisted, turning back to Gilmore. "Come with us!"

"If I do that, you won't make it out before the gates fall." Gilmore insisted. To cut off any chance at an argument, he raised a gauntleted hand. "Please! Go while you have the chance, my lord!"

"Bless you, Ser gilmore! Maker watch over you!" Eleanor said as she moved for the kitchens.

"Maker watch over us all." Gilmore said. The last that Malcolm Cousland ever saw of his friend, Ser Gilmore, was him turning back to the gate, his blade drawn as he stood ready to meet those that would come through once the gate was broken. Ready, able, and willing...that was Ser Gilmore. And under Howe's men's blades, he was about to meet his final test.

They left, Malcolm discouraged on top of his anger, as they made their way through the corridors, checking rooms for any sign of Bryce as they went along. Most of the serving staff had been pocketed away - not having the status to protest against Howe's attack no doubt – and those liberated in the fighting were now running for their lives.

In the kitchens, they found Nan and her serving staff, cut down just like the rest of the castle seemed to be. Malcolm knew enough of Nan that she'd fought to the bitter end. Not far off from where she lay, however, Malcolm recognized the door to the larder had been left slightly ajar and from within he could see...

"Father!" Malcolm rushed in, finding Teyrn Bryce Cousland covered in blood, holding his abdoment to stem the bleeding that had been so heavily inflicted upon him.

"There...you both are..." His words were shaky, uneven. His breathing even more so. But even his grevious wound could not dampen the clear exuberance in his voice at seeing his wife and youngest son alive. Malcolm came over, helping his father to lie against some flour sacks. Not exactly the most comfortable of positions, but it would serve well enough for now. "I was...wondering when you would get here." He croaked out.

"Bryce!" Eleanor was sobbing again, overcome. "Maker's blood! You're bleeding!" She said, examining the wound that Malcolm recognized had, like Oren and Oriana, been a bladed weapon. The two bodies clothed as Howe's soldiers that were on the floor not far off, however, showed that Bryce had given as good as he'd gotten, if not more so.

"Howe's men...found me first. Almost...did me in right there." Bryce wheezed.

"We need to get you out of here!" Malcolm insisted, heading over to find the secret entrance that would get them out of the castle.

"I...won't survive the standing, I think." A twinge of pain crushed him again, like it had before outside their rooms. As if someone had reached into his chest and was squeezing his heart between their fingers.

"That's...that's not true! You'll be fine!" Malcolm spun around on the spot, facing his father. He denied it. He had to deny it. It simply _wasn't_ true.

"Ah...my boy..." Bryce was starting to fall in and out of consciousness, fighting to remain in the former category, "if only will could make it so..." Malcolm fell to his knees before him, at his mother's side. '_This can't be happening...this can't be happening..._' He kept repeating to himself, the mantra going on as he tried to wake up from this horrendous nightmare.

"Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us! We must go!" Eleanor insisted, drying her tears as best she could.

"Someone must...reach Fergus..." Bryce was fighting to speak, now, his wounds so greivous that he would not last much longer. "Tell him...what has happened..."

"You can tell him yourself, Father!" Malcolm continued to hang onto denial. Tears unshed were filing his eyes as he gazed upon his dying father.

"I...wish I could..."

"Bryce, no!" Eleanor's turn at denying the obvious came up. "The servants' passage is right here! We can flee together, find you healing magic!"

"The castle is surrounded...I cannot make it." Eleanor's tears were falling once more at her husband's pronouncement.

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct." The voice was familiar, but Malcolm took a long moment before he recognized who it was. He looked different, somehow, than he had in the main hall that evening. Perhaps it was the fact he was now covered from head to toe in blood.

However, Malcolm could tell as the man slid his blade into the sheath on his back, that not a single drop of it was his.

"Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle. Getting past will be difficult." He came to kneel down before the teyrn as well.

"You are...Duncan, then? The Grey Warden?" Eleanor inquired.

"Yes, your Ladyship." Duncan nodded respectfully. "The teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner."

"My younger son helped me get here, Maker be praised." With that announcement, Duncan looked back towards him, and Malcolm's eyes met his.

"I am not surprised."

At this moment, Malcolm neither knew nor cared what Duncan meant. The Grey Wardens were literally the last thing on his mind.

"Are you going to help us, Duncan?" The question came from him. If anyone could help Bryce now, surely a Grey Warden would be able to do it.

"Whatever is to be done now, it must be quick!" Eleanor cut the Grey Warden off before he could even begin to speak. "They are coming!"

"Duncan..." Bryce caught everyone's attention as he mustered up his last words. "You are under no obligation to me, but I beg you...take my wife and son to safety!"

"I will, your Lordship." Duncan said, and a rush of relief could be felt in the room from Bryce. "But..." And suddenly, panic. "I fear I must ask for something in return."

"Anything!" Bryce snapped, and Malcolm did not know that he knew _exactly_ what Duncan meant.

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world," Duncan said, "I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

"I...I understand." Bryce mustered, defeated.

"Are...are you talking about _me_?" Malcolm hardly spoke above a whisper. No, this was not what he had intended at all. Becoming a Grey Warden but...not like this. Not this way.

"You fought your way to me through Howe's men. I think the Maker's intention is clear." Duncan answered. He turned back to Bryce. "I will take the teyrna and your son to Ostagar to tell Fergus and the King what happened. Then, your son joins the Grey Wardens."

Malcolm had entertained the thought since it had been brought up, but this...he couldn't bare it. The _one_ time he wished the thought had never entered his mind.

"So long as justice comes to Howe...I agree." Bryce gasped out.

"Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens." Malcolm met Duncan's eyes once more. "Fight with us." Everything that meant, everything he would now go through and see cycled through his mind. He had no boyish pride, no desire to go out and become the great warrior he had always believed he was destined to be now...the pain of this night had crippled him, the realization that all but a handful of those he had known and loved were gone had stained his soul in a manner utterly irrevocably.

"I...accept your offer." Malcolm said. A life of service in the Wardens wouldn't be a terrible thing, so long as Howe saw justice for what he'd done.

"We must leave quickly, then." Duncan said, standing up once more.

"Bryce, are you...sure?" Eleanor spoke up again, distraught at the whole business.

"Our son...will not die of Howe's treachery." Bryce spoke with determination. "He will live, and make his mark on the world."

Apparently satisified (as one could be) with that, Eleanor turned to Malcolm, placing a hand against his cheek. "Darling, go with Duncan. You have a better chance ot escape without me."

Another grip at his heart, his mouth running dry as he lacked the ability to make words once more. There was no way she was serious!

"Eleanor..." Bryce gasped out, determined not to let his wife throw herself onto the blade of a sword.

"Hush, Bryce!" Eleanor shushed him. "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I _won't_ abandon you." And Malcolm knew, as she said that, that that was the end of the argument. Eleanor Cousland was going to die here, too. But he wasn't having it.

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself!" Malcolm snapped, this time not regretting it in the least. His unshed tears were loosened, trails of water moving across his face.

"My place is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond." His mother reaffirmed her words.

"I'm...so sorry its come to this, my love..." Bryce spoke his last.

"We had a good life and did all we could." Eleanor did her best to comfort her husband in his last moments. "It's up to our children, now."

"Then...go..." Bryce reached for Malcolm's hand, grasping it with the last of his strength. Malcolm gripped, too, as though he could keep his father alive by the pressure alone. "Warn your brother...and know that we love you both. You do us proud."

In the distance, Malcolm heard the gates crumble, but he didn't care. All he could see at this moment was his mortally wounded father, his mother sobbing over him as she, too, had resigned herself to a similar fate. Reality didn't come back to him for what seemed like an eternity, until Duncan's hand clasped his shoulder.

"We must go now."

Malcolm fought the urge to stay as Duncan pulled him toward the secret entrance, and away from them, leaving behind the world he had known and into one entirely different in the worst possible way he could imagine.

* * *

A/N: And there's chapter two, and the end of the Human Noble origin. That's right, I did mention there would be more than one Origin, didn't I? Next up, the second individual who will become a Grey Warden. A human mage who has spent the whole of his life in Kinloch Hold, but dreams of more.

But ambition can be a monster all its own. To help stop the Blight, could Duncan unleash a monster even worse than an archdemon upon Thedas? Time will tell, as will chapters to come. Until then, readers...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**  
Harrowing

For him, the day had finally come. Xanatos Amell could not have been any more ready for it. The Harrowing was a test feared by many of the others who lived inthe Apprentice Quarters. Not he. No, any challenge of magic the young magi was only too happy to face any test he could. The mages were so cowed, so entrapped, and he was among those that sought to break free from those chains.

Alas, the Chantry and their precious templars would have none such rebellious thoughts. Xanatos knew a day wold come when the chains would be released, but that day was not today as he was escorted by templars into the chamber that was known for hosting the Harrowing.

It was a secret ceremony, whispers were shared by the apprentices about what the test might entail. Hence the fear many had about it. Despite rumor and innuendo, no one really knew what the test truly was. And, of course, those who had passed it and the Templars that gave it were forbidden to speak about it to those who had not taken it.

Xanatos did not find himself afraid as he stepped into the chamber to see both the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander Greagoir waiting him by a basin. And, of course, there were several more Templars about just to further emphasis the point.

'_All of you, afraid of one little mage?_' Xanatos thought, unable and unwilling to keep the amused smile off of his lips. '_Good_...'

"'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.'" The self-righteous Greagoir spoke up, quoting the Chantry's version of Andraste. "Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who brought the world to the edge of ruin."

Xanatos resisted, only just, the urge to snort in derision. The Tevinter Imperium may not have been what it once was, but at the very least it had certainly not been 'cast down' at any rate. A land where the Templars were subservient to the mages? What an interesting prospect.

"Your magic is a gift, but it is also a curse," Greagoir continued.

'_Yes. A curse to be inflicted upon pious zealots like you..._'

"For demons of the dream realm – the Fade – are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world."

Posession _was_ something that made his skin crawl, just a bit. The thought of a demonic force burrowing its way into his body, staining his very soul. Definitely not something he wished to even entertain the thought of, yet something that everyone – even non-mages – could have happen to them.

"This is why the Harrowing exists." The First Enchanter, Irving, spoke. He was an older man and, in spite of some ideological differences, Xanatos could not help but respect him. He believed in the Circle, the institution that it was and the necessity for it. "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."

'_Ah, so _that's_ it, is it?_' Xanatos thought. '_That hardly seems so terrible..._'

"I am ready." Xanatos said with complete confidence.

"Know this, apprentice." Greagoir had to put his two coppers in, of course. "If you fail, we templares will perform our duty. You will die."

'_Nice to know..._' Xanatos thought, not bothering to give the man a verbal answer and in a moment it didn't matter as Irving directed his attention to the basin. The blue, liquid substance within was quite familiar to him from his studies.

"This is lyrium: the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade." Greagoir spoke, gesturing to the basin.

"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child." Irving said. Xanatos supposed he could see that necessity. It took quite a bit of lyrium to cross into the Fade outside of dreaming, and doing so was not without risk. "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you."

Xanatos gave a rare, genuine smile to the old man, nodding. He was as confident as the First Enchanter in his abilities.

"Keep your wits about you, and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams." The old man imparted a last bit of advice. "The spirits may rule it, but your own will is _real_."

"The _apprentice_ must go through this test _alone_, First Enchanter." Gragoir brought up, eyes narrowing on Irving. Xanatos turned to face him, giving the Knight-Commander a look as he entertained the thought of putting a bolt of lightning through the man's head. Sure, he would only get the one shot in this room, but it would almost be worth getting run through by the other templars.

"You are ready."

Xanatos walked over, carefully reaching his hand into the shimmering, blue substance. His hand began to glow, and then the entire world seemed to disappear in a flash of bright, white light.

* * *

The entire world had faded away and now...he was there.

Xanatos glanced around to a landscape he remembered well from his dreams. It was a landscape like a barren wasteland that seemed to stretch off as far as the eye could see in all directions, yet so mercurial that it never seemed solid. Other islands of such lands floated off into the distance, but he knew that they were not his primary concern. No, the path he was to take was lain before him, passing a large statue as his reflexes kicked in quickly enough for him to step back to avoid a bolt of pure mana sent his way.

He recognized the ball of light that had projected it, a wisp wraith. Demons who had been destroyed or were otherwise so weak that they had little power of their own beyond mischief. Easy enough to dispose of.

Gathering up his mana, Xanatos stepped from the safety of the the statue's girth to release a blast of lightning that seared through the air and impacted against the Wisp, sending it back. He immediately followed up with the blue-purple blasts of pure mana that likewise shot through the air and dissolved the creature, leaving only the dust in its wake.

The mage took a moment to gather himself, the mana-soaked environment around him giving him plenty to draw from and he was himself again within moments. He did not believe, even for a moment, that that had been the test. It had been far too easy, and Wisps were hardly of any power to be a threat to even a novice mage.

Much less one who would walk out of that Harrowing Chamber a new Enchanter.

He journeyed down the path before him, finding a few more wisps and having no less trouble in dispatching them. '_If this is all this entails, I'll be out of here in no time._' Xanatos was less than impressed as he walked along.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever." A voice came from...below? Xanatos gazed down in his path to see he had nearly stepped on...a field mouse.

"What the-?"

"It isn't right that they do this, the templars." The mouse, for it was indeed the mouse speaking, continued. "Not to you, me, anyone."

"...you're a talking rat." Xanatos blinked, knowing full well that this was the Fade, and this could easily be a figment of his dreams...or a demon in disguise.

"You think you're really here? In that body? You look like that because you _think_ you do!" The mouse snickered. "It's always the same. But it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was, aren't you?" The mouse suddenly flashed a blinding, white light and when Xanatos's vision refocused, he was staring at a man that looked much like him, but wearing the robes of a Senior Enchanter. "Allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me...well...Mouse."

"You took the Harrowing?" Xanatos asked.

"It's fuzzy, that time before." Mouse held his head, running his hand through his wheat blonde hair. "They wake you up in the middle of the night and drag you to the Harrowing chamber and then..." Beat for beat, he was going through Xanatos's entire experience. To his mind, the claims seemed quite legitimate. "The templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you failed, and they don't want something getting out."

Xanatos knew of that, of course. Not necessarily in relation to the Harrowing, but demon posession was one of the reasons why the templars kept the mages on such a leash.

"I think, I have no body to reclaim..." Mouse said. "And you don't have much time before you end up the same..."

"That's not going to happen to me." Xanatos replied curtly, still on the fence as to whether "Mouse" was truly friend or foe.

"That has been said before." Mouse said. "But you don't know the danger."

'_I _am_ the danger_.' Xanatos thought, though Mouse continued speaking before he could say it.

"There's something _here_ contained, just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the creature, a demon, and resist it...if you can. That's your way out. Or your opponent's, if the templars wouldn't kill you. A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the Fade."

To Xanatos's mind, this seemed even _more_ depraved than before. Or, at least, it would be to a less powerful apprentice. To him...well, he was not food for the demons, he was the bait in a trap.

"I don't understand why this test is so feared." He told his new companion.

"You would be a fool to just attack everything you see. What you face is powerful. Cunning." Mouse replied to Xanatos's complete apathy. "There are others here, other spirits. They will tell you more, maybe help. If you can believe anything you see."

'_Including you_...' Xanatos mused on it, not wanting to play his hand too early. He did not trust anything he saw in the Fade, much less this...lost apprentice, as he claimed to be. The submissive and rather meek disposition did not seem like someone who would _think_ they'd look like someone wearing the robes of an Enchanter, after all.

"I'll follow, if that's alright. My chance was long ago, but you...you may have a way out." Mouse said. There was another flash of light and, when his vision cleared, Xanatos saw a mouse where once stood a man.

"As you wish, I care not..." Xanatos said before turning on his heel, walking off further down the path.

Some time later – or, perhaps, earlier due to how time seemed to have no meaning within the Fade – Xanatos caught sight of a etheral figure, a knight in armor, next to a rack of weaponry.

"Another mortal thrown into the falmes and left to burn, I see." The spirit's voice was commanding, rich, sounding much like a noble warrior would. "Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill, than be sent unarmed against a demon."

'_Oh, great...a spirit of Valor._' Xanatos said, recognizing it from studies. Spirits were less common than demons outside of the Fade, but they occasionally did interact with the mortal world.

"You know why I'm here?" Xanatos questioned. Once more, he was cautious about the whole endeavor. Nothing in the Fade could be completely trusted unless it came from his own willpower.

"You are not the first to be sent here for such testing." The spirit told him. "Nor shall you be the last, I suspect." He supposed there was nothing that could be done for it. "That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter. I wish you a glorious battle to come."

The mage eyed the weapon rack behind the spirit. "Did you create all of these weapons?"

"They are brought into being by my will. I understand that in your world, mages are the only ones who can will things into being. Those mortals who cannot must lead such hollow, empty lives."

Xanatos supposed he had never considered it that way, though he was neither of the mood or the inclination to consider anything apart from leaving here alive.

"I need your help."

"Of course. You are not the first mortal to seek my aid." The spirit said, but his next words made Xanatos's mood turn sour. "I am not here to assist you, however. My purpose is to seek perfection, creating the ultimate weapon for the pursuit of valor."

"Would one of these weapons affect the demon?" Xanatos pressed him.

"Without a doubt!" The spirit replied. "In this realm, everything that exists is the expression of a thought." He gestured over to the rack of weapons. "Do you think these blades be steel? These staves be wood? Do you believe they draw blood? A weapon is a single need for battle, and my will makes that need reality!"

Xanatos considered this, considered all he knew and had read of the Fade and its ways. It was still something not completely understood. The Chantry taught many things of it, but he was more interested in the _facts_ of things, not religious dogma.

"Do you truly desire one of my weapons?" The spirit asked. "I will give one to you...if you agree to duel me, first. Valor shall test your mettle as it should be tested."

A moment later, Xanatos had raised his hand and a light from his palm spread out, forming a long body. As the light faded, the top of the newly-made staff formed into two serpents twisting about one another, a blood-red ruby captured between their gaping maws.

"No, I'm quite well-prepared." The mage smirked as he held the weapon he had formed from the ether about him.

"...as you wish." The spirit said no more, taking to tending to his weapons. With his staff now in hand, Xanatos went back down the path.

"What are you doing?" Mouse piped up, still maintaining his rodent form.

"I feel the pull...I am ready." Xanatos said, his steps bringing him to his destination. A small aclove rounded by flames.

"That...that is where the test takes place." Mouse warned as they approached. "It can be anywhere, but it manifests _there_."

'_Easily enough to deal with..._' Xanatos thought as he stepped into the area. He tapped the bottom of his staff against the ground not once, not twice, but three times before he spoke. "Come on, then! I don't have all day!" Across from where he stood, Xanatos could see it. The ground below began to blacken, flames leaping up as did a blob-like form, made of the burning rock and fire.

"And _there_ is a demon of rage!" Mouse gasped. Xanatos stepped forward to meet it.

"And so it comes to me at last..." The voice was deep, growling. Xanatos knew well he was facing a beast that delighted in playing with its food before it ate it. "Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul."

"You _must_ be joking." Xanatos gave the derisive snort he'd been saving for this.

"So this creature is your offering, Mouse?" The Demon spoke, which didn't surprise Xanatos in the least at the revelation. "Another plaything, as per our arrangement?"

"I'm...I'm not offering you _anything_!" Mouse protested, his human form backing away as he covered his face with his hands. "I don't have to help you anymore!"

"Aww...and after all those wonderful meals we have shared? Now suddenly the mouse has changed the rules?" The Demon laughed. It was suddenly cut off by a bolt of lightning that seared through the air, knocking it back with the power of mana.

"Sorry, I'm _really_ rather tired of hearing you talk." Xanatos said as his staff was raised and he began to fire from it bolts of his will. It lurched forward, he hit it again and again with blasts, the red embers of its light were beginning to fade away more and more as it blasted him with a gale of flame.

A wave of his hand, and Xanatos was surrounded by a shield of light blue that absorbed the flames. He responded by blasting the creature once more with lightning. The electricity flowing through it finally dissolved the creature's will to continue fighting, and it crumbled.

Xanatos dropped the staff, which dissolved into nothingness now that he focused none of his will upon it.

"You...you _did_ it!" Mouse said, having stayed away during most of the fight and now standing nearby in his human form. "You actually _did_ it!"

"Yes...I did." Xanatos regarded him curiously, seeing a level of stability and exuberance that his previous attitude had done little to make seem a possibility.

"When you came, I hoped that maybe you might be able to. But I never really thought any of you were _worthy_."

"It's all a little..._too_ easy." Xanatos said, more thinking aloud than speaking to him.

"That is because _you_ are a true mage, one of the few." Mouse said, a broad smile on his lips. It was true, and Xanatos knew it well, but the words were...hollow, twisted. This wasn't right, he knew his earlier suspicious were spot on. "The others...they never had a chance. The templars set them up to fall, like they tried with you."

'_He's trying to butter me up...but why?_' Xanatos thought. Was Mouse a demon or a spirit? If so, what was his angle?

"I regret my part in it, but you have shown me that there is hope. You can be so much more than you know..."

"So what is it that you think you can get from me?" Xanatos cut him off from any further boot-licking, knowing that the other shoe was sure to drop.

"You defeated a demon, you completed your test. With time, you will be a master enchanter with no equal!" Mouse remained enthusiastic and filled with praise...too _much_ praise. "And...maybe there's hope in that for someone as small and as..._forgotten_ as me, if you want to help..." Xanatos showed that he was listening. "There may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold outside. You just need to want to let me in..."

"I knew the Rage Demon wasn't my test." Xanatos replied with a blank expression.

"What? What are you..." Mouse sputtered. "Of course it was! What else is here that could harm an apprentice of your potential?!" But Xanatos's eyes remained upon him, unconvinced. Mouse looked down, silent for a moment, before he spoke again...in a voice far, far different from his own. "You _are_ a smart one..."

'_Demon, then..._' Xanatos said, on his guard once more, his staff reforming in his grip.

"Simple killing is a warrior's job. The real dangers of the fade are preconceptions, careless trust..." Mouse spoke, and suddenly there was another flash. Through it, this time, Xanatos could see the form of the man giving way, but this time it was not shrinking into a mouse. It was growing bigger, wider, towering above him.

"...pride."

Xanatos backed away slightly, even he horrified at the sight before him. The raw power and maligance that was a Pride Demon. "Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end."

Another flash of light, and it was gone as though it had never been...if it ever had to begin with. And with that, Xanatos felt the world fall away, much as it had when he'd first touched the lyrium mix that had brought him into the Fade. He fell back...and knew no more.

* * *

"...are you alright? Say something, please..."

"...Jowan?"

The first sight he had upon waking was Jowan, his oldest friend within the walls of the Circle Tower. He'd been there even longer than him, a point that Jowan absolutely _loved_ to bring up, and was no doubt more than a little peeved about him being taken for a Harrowing instead.

"I'm glad you're alright. They carried you in this morning." Jowan said, coming to his bedside. "I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night."

"Yeah, they took me up late last night." Xanatos said, the memory coming back. Coming out of the Fade, whether it be by dreams or magic, was always jarring and it took him a moment to re-orient himself.

"I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings." Jowan said. "Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?"

"Jowan..." Xanatos said. "We're friends, but don't ask this, okay? You know I can't tell you." It was well known that the Harrowing was a secret. While he might not have agreed with it completely, he held enough respect for Irving to not spill the beans.

"So much for friendship." Jowan grimanced. "I'll leave you alone, then."

"It's not so bad, Jowan." Xanatos said.

"And _now_ you get to move to the nice mages' quarters uupstairs. I'm stuck here and I don't when they'll call me for my Harrowing."

Xanatos got up, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry so much about it." He said. Jowan was a capable enough apprentice and he'd no doubt do pretty well.

"Easy for _you_ to say," was his friend's only reply, "I've been here longer than you have."

'_Called it_.'

"Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me." And now, Jowan was being a grump.

"What are you talking about?" Xanatos's brow raised at his words.

"The Tranquil never go through a Harrowing." Jowan pointed out. The Tranquil...something that made Xanatos's skin crawl. They were plenty alright, but they unnerved him and many others with their complete monotone voice and complete lack of emotion. The Rite of Tranquility was used to keep mages who were too dangerous from hurting others, but at the cost of all emotion and feeling.

One could argue it was magically burning out their souls.

"You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility, or you die." Jowan said. "That's what happens."

"What does this have to do with you?" Xanatos asked, not getting what he meant, or at the very least not wanting to consider that such a thing would happen to him.

"If they don't call apprentices to the Harrowing, that probably means...Tranquility." Jowan said. "You've seen the Tranquil around the tower. Like Owain, who runs the stockroom." Xanatos knew, though he didn't like to think on the man too much. Of course, whether or not someone could call a Tranquil a man was debatable at best. He remembered having the discussion with Owain himself on the very subject.

"I think you're reading too much into it." The mage, nonetheless, tried his best to assauge his friend's fears on the subject.

"I...shouldn't waste your time." Jowan was clearly irritated, but wanted to speak of this no more. "I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up."

Xanatos perked up. "What for?"

"He didn't tell me," Jowan shook his head, "about the Harrowing, I guess, but you never know with Irving. You better not keep him waiting."

"We'll talk later." Xanatos said, nodding as he headed out of the apprentice dormitories for what would be the last time.

His belongings had already been moved.

* * *

The trip up to the second level of the tower, where the mages' quarters and the office of the First Enchanter were, was uneventful. He stepped through the open doorway of the office, finding the First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander, and two individuals he did not recognize. One was an older man, a Rivaini with his raven black locks arranged in a ponytail. The other was far, far younger and had a mop of chocolate brown hair that seemed rather messy. Both had the trappings and weaponry of warriors.

'_This is...interesting..._'

"...many have already _gone_ to Ostagar." Greagoir was mouthing off once again. "Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages! We've committed enough of _our_ own to this war effort-"

"_Your_ own?" Xanatos braced himself and grinned as he got to listen to Irving defeat Greagoir with the bane of all templars, logic, once again. "Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?"

Xanatos fought the urge to laugh as Greagoir turned bright red.

"How dare you suggest-" The Knight-Commander started.

"Gentlemen, please!" The Rivaini warrior spoke up. "Irving, someone is here to see you." All four turned to face him in the doorway.

"You sent for me?" Xanatos asked, addressing Irving directly.

"Ah! If it isn't our newest brother in the Circle?" Irving said, ever the welcoming one. "Come, child."

The Rivaini stepped forward to glance at him better. "This is...?"

"Yes, this is he." Irving said, looking to the man. Xanatos was wondering what they had been discussing about him. This man was no templar, so far as he could tell.

"Well, Irving, you're obviously very busy," Greagoir's rage seemed to be forgotten as he now, suddenly, looked uncomfortable, "We will discuss this later..."

With that, the Knight-Commander excused himself from the room.

"Of course..." Irving waved this off. "Well, then...where was I? Oh, yes...this is Warden-Commander Duncan of the Grey Wardens and a recruit of his from...Highever, did you say, my boy?"

"Yes, First Enchanter." The younger of the two warriors spoke up in a clipped, educated tone. Someone of noble birth, from the sound of him. Likely just one of those nobles that had maybe a drop of blood in their veins and not a copper to their name.

"Grey Wardens? In the tower?" Xanatos asked, curious as to what they would be doing here. Grey Wardens battled darkspawn, not mages or templars.

"Grey Wardens go wherever duty sends them." The man who had been introduced as Duncan said.

"You've heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect?" Irving asked. Xanatos nodded, he had heard a little of it, and knew that some mages had already been taken to assist King Cailan's army at Ostagar, the old Tevinter fortress that had once been used to protect the northern Southlands from ruffians and barbarians. "Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king's army at Ostagar."

"...that's all you wanted to tell me?" Xanatos asked, wondering why he bothered, in that case.

"Of course not!" Irving laughed merrily. "I wished to congratulate you on a successful end to last night's ordeal." He walked over to his desk, taking a wooden box from behind it, setting it on top. "Your Harrowing is behind you, your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi."

His tone and his face soured at the word. "My leash, you mean."

"Now, child, it's not _that_ bad." Irving consoled him as best he could.

"I'm sorry," The other Warden, the young man, spoke, "what is this phylactery?"

"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower," Irving was only too happy to explain to the unenlightened, "and is preserved in special vials."

"So they can be hunted if they turn apostate." Duncan replied neutrally.

"We have few choices." Irving gave a shrug. "The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly." Xanatos thought it was perfectly ridiculous. Of course, his attention was called back from further musing when Irving faced him again. "You have done this. I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring bearing the Circle's insignia. Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."

He gestured to the box, from which Xanatos took the robes. He was reminded for a moment of those that the demon had worn as Mouse, those of an enchanter. He would have to wear them later. The ring, he slipped onto his finger, and the staff he took to hand.

"Thank you." He said earnestly. These were gifts well earned.

"It goes without saying that you shall not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not undergone the rite." The First Enchanter, nonetheless, gave a pointed reminder to the new Enchanter. "Now then, take your time to rest...or study in the library. The day is yours."

"I will, First Enchanter." He nodded.

"We," Duncan spoke up, "shall return to our quarters."

"Would you be so kind as to escort the Wardens back to their room, child?" Irving asked.

"If I must." Xanatos said, not relishing the thought of escorting either of them anywhere. He, of course, knew where the guest quarters were, but they were so rarely used. Dismissed, and seeing that the Wardens were ready to leave, Xanatos left the room. The trip to the guest quarters was as uneventful as his trip up there had been...until they got into the room, anyway.

Xanatos blinked and stared at a fully-grown Mabari stood up from the stone floor and barked at him.

"Clavicus! Heel!" The younger Warden spoke sharply, and the beast stopped barking and sat, tongue wagging.

"Sorry...he's a bit on edge." The younger Warden said.

"It's fine." Xanatos replied coldly. '_I wonder if I'd be allowed a throw rug in my quarters..._' He thought, but dismissed it as he gave his goodbyes and they theirs.

* * *

A bit later, he had changed into his robes and was reading through a tome he had accquired from the library – "A Catalog of Elven Relics" – when he heard a knock on the wall near his room. He looked up to see Jowan standing in the opening.

"Hello, done talking with Irving, I take it?" Jowan asked.

"Hello again, Jowan. Come in." Xanatos gestured for him to take a seat.

"Thanks, I need to talk to you." Jowan said, coming to sit on the bed. "Remember what we discussed this morning?" By the end of his sentence, he was whispering.

"...why are you whispering?" Xanatos asked, mockingly whispering himself. "It looks very suspicious, you know."

Jowan shushed him. "I just want to make sure we're not overheard." He hissed. "We should go somewhere else, I don't feel safe talking here." Xanatos supposed that made sense. The mages' quarters were not exactly private rooms, very communal and all that. And open. Even so, he didn't like the look of his friend.

"You seem a little on edge..." Xanatos started, a bit of concern showing through.

"I've been..." Jowan was clearly searching for the right word, not wanting to say too much where ears that didn't need to hear could, "_troubled_...I'll explain. Come with me, please." Jowan gestured, heading back to the opening. Xanatos closed the tome, leaving it on his desk for later and heading off with him. Sooner than later, they arrived in the chapel that was on that floor, right up to one of the many depictions of Andraste in the room, off to the side...

...with a priest standing right by.

"We should be safe here." Jowan was nonetheless keeping his tone hushed.

"You realize there's a priest standing right here?" Xanatos asked, giving him a look as the priest didn't seem remotely bothered, smiling brightly at the pair of them.

"Not a priest," she said sweetly, "I am merely an initiate."

"Jowan...what's going on?" Xanatos looked back from her to Jowan once more, hoping for an explanation.

"A few months ago, I told you that I...met a girl." Jowan said. "This is Lily." Xanatos had forgotten about that, truth be told. He had supposed it was the same as the 'girlfriend in Orlais' speech that so many gave in an attempt to protect their masculinity. Still, he couldn't resist poking a bit of fun at Jowan's expense.

"My condolences, Lily." He said with a teasing smirk. She stiffled a giggle as Jowan rolled his eyes.

"Oh, _very_ funny!" He was nonetheless laughing a little himself.

"So...what is this all about?"

"Remember when I said that I didn't think they wanted to give me my Harrowing? I know why." Jowan said, pausing for a bit, clearly working up the ability to speak the words. "They're...they're going to make me _Tranquil_."

"What?!" Xanatos fought to keep his voice down, shocked at the pronouncement.

"They'll take everything that I am from me – my dreams, hopes, fears...my love for Lily..." Jowan was clearly distraught, his face crippled with pain and already mourning his emotions as though they'd been lost.

...but he wouldn't do that when they _were_ gone.

"...all gone."

"That sounds terrible." Xanatos unable to consider the thought. Seeing them was one thing, but...Jowan? To see Jowan like Owain was...completely dead, lifeless but still walking about. A soulless husk.

"They'll extinguish my humanity!" Jowan pressed on. "I'll just be a husk, breathing and existing, but not truly _living_."

"Wait, hang on..." Xanatos raised a hand to stop him, trying to make sense of all this. Would the First Enchanter approve this just out of hand? It made no sense, none at all. "How _did_ you find out about this?"

"I...saw the document on Greagoir's table." Lily said, Xanatos turning to her to see that she was as distraught as Jowan, but was far, far more skilled at hiding it behind the mask of Chantry training. "It authorized the Rite on Jowan, and Irving had signed it."

"But...but that's _impossible_!" Xanatos felt betrayal. Why would Irving do this? Jowan had never done anything that would arouse suspicion. The man was the very model of politeness and decency. "Why would they do this to you?"

"There's a rumor about me...people think I'm a blood mage." Jowan said.

Xanatos couldn't keep himself from scoffing. "Oh, c'mon, Jowan. _You_? _Really_? C'mon..."

"That's what they're saying." Lily said.

"Right, because he's _totally_ the type to slit his wrists and dance naked under the moonlight." Xanatos snickered. "C'mon, this _can't_ be the real thing..."

"It is...they think making me a Circle mage will endanger everyone." Jowan said, and Xanatos could tell that he was deathly serious. He immediately got himself back into a serious mood.

"What are you going to do?"

"I need to escape." Jowan said simply. "I need to destroy my phylactery. Without it, they can't track me down."

"...then why did you need me?" Xanatos asked. Without knowing it, he would have been at worst implicated by association, but he now knew the entire plan.

"We need your help." Jowan said. "Lily and I can't do this on our own."

"Give us your word that you will help, and we will tell you what we intend." Lily said, and both looked to him for a response.

'_I have a bad, bad feeling I'm going to regret this..._'

"You have my word, Lily."

Both sighed in relief. "Thank you," Lily said, "we will never forget this."

"Tell me what your plan is, and tell me quick." Xanatos said, wanting to hear this and wishing he had gotten to hear it before he agreed to it.

"I can get us into the repository," Lily said, "but there's a door with two locks on the phylactery chamber. The first enchanter and the Knight-Commander each hold one key."

Xanatos didn't imagine he would be able to steal their keys. Greagoir's, maybe, he could very likely trick the man. Irving, however...no.

"But it's just a door," The initiate continued quickly, "there is power enough in this place to destroy all of Ferelden. What's a door to mages?"

"Well, crazy idea here...but what if it's a _magical_ door?"

"We have no choice. We cannot get our hands on both of those keys." Jowan replied, then brought up an idea. "I once saw a rod of fire melt through a lock once. You could get one from the stockroom, but Owain doesn't realize such things to apprentices."

"...hence why you need me." Xanatos said, finally getting it. "Let's not waste more time, then."

* * *

**A/N: **And now, you know half the origin of Xanatos Amell, human mage. The other half? Well, that's coming up in Chapter Two. Next, the young mage and soon to be Grey Warden will face a challenge as he descends to the phylactery chamber to aid his friend Jowan. Will he succeed?

...seriously, if you don't know the story, then why are you here?

I mean, I'm happy with the hits, but c'mon, guys (and girls)...

...y'know, just stay tuned. Chapter four should be rolling around soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four  
**Take One Down, Pass It Around

He didn't hate the tranquil, he really didn't. But there was something to them that just...wasn't right. It was the dead eyes, the gaping mouth, the completely rigid in stance and posture. They were more statues than men, completely devoid of all that made them living, breathing beings.

Needless to say, Xanatos had never enjoyed going up to the stockroom. When in his apprenticehood, he had done his best to _not_ be picked as the one to get anything the mentor required from there.

"Welcome to the Circle stockroom of magical items." Owain's completely base voice spoke, a tone of complete and utter neutrality like words written upon the page of a manual. No life in it – no joy, no sorrow, no glee, no anger. Xanatos tried to keep himself from shivering unpleasantly at the very sound. "My name is Owain. How may I assist you?"

Beyond him was a room that was stacked from wall to wall with barrels, boxes, and other containers that held the items he spoke of. Xanatos's eyes flickered to them for a moment, then back to Owain.

"I need a rod of fire."

"Rods of fire serve many purposes." Owain replied, his tone never changing in pitch. "Why do you wish to acquire this particular item?"

"...why do you need to know?" Xanatos asked, a brow raised. He was a full mage now. He knew his rights, and one of those was access to the Circle stockroom. Wasn't that how it was supposed to go?

"It is procedure." The tranquil spoke simply in reply.

Xanatos rolled his eyes. "I need the rod for my research into...burning things." He said. From his robes, quick as a flash, Owain produced a slip of parchment that Xanatos recognized.

"Here is the form – "Request for Rod of Fire". Have it signed and dated by a senior enchanter. I will release a rod to you once I have the signed form."

'_Great...more hoops to jump through. Things never change._' Xanatos nodded and left quickly to go find a senior enchanter. Who could he convince quickly enough to get this done? Torrin? No, he'd see right through it. Leorah, perhaps? He denied that thought again. She was too busy with her herbs and alchemy to really worry so much about other matters.

First Enchanter?

He stopped in the corridor, thinking it over.

Could he do that? To the man who had mentored him so, seeing as he was about to potential betrayal the Circle? Even if he were never caught, it was still something he would carry with him. Could he outright go to the man's face and _lie_ about why he needed a rod of fire? The thought did not continue as Xanatos caught sight of someone familiar...Senior Enchanter Sweeney.

He was an old man, balding, and the most forgetful sort. Kind, talented in his youth, but really rather slow on the uptake now. Xanatos was sure he could very easily twist the man just enough to get what he wanted.

He came up, clearing his throat. The man turned around. "Oh...hello. I don't believe we've met." He said. "Are you...new to the Circle?" He asked.

Another day of not remembering. Lovely. "You might remember me as an apprentice." Xanatos said, humoring him nonetheless.

"I'm sorry." Sweeney laughed. "There are so many of you, and I get confused."

'_No kidding._'

"Not to mention these old eyes are starting to go..."

'_Surprised they didn't go before you brain..._' Xanatos said, nevertheless putting a broad smile on his face and laughing along with him.

"Everyone makes mistakes."

"You're too kind. I'm old and about to fall apart. Nothing in the world can fix that."

'_Just live long enough to sign the form..._'

"Anyway, did you need something?"

"I just need a form signed." Xanatos said, holding out the form to him.

"What's this?" Sweeney leaned over, squinting to get a better look at the printing. "A request form from the stockroom? 'Rod of Fire'..."

'_Yes, you can still read...now put that hand to use..._'

"You know, I remember when the junior mages I mentor..."

'_Oh, Maker damn it all!_'

"...burning holes in each other's trousers. One boy burned..."

'_Oh, yes, old man. Laugh and laugh and go on and on and on..._'

Suddenly, he laughing due to some part of his story. Xanatos laughed as well, keeping up the facade.

"You're not involved in any such rubbish, are you?" Sweeney was giving him an appraising look, then shook his head. "No, no, of course you're not. Look at you, so...angelic." He laughed, as Xanatos did in kind. "Well, I won't ask why you need it." The man took the form over to nearby desk, dipping a quill in ink a few times and scribbling out his name and the date, giving it a moment to set before handing it back. "...and if you get the chance, burn a _big_ hole in the seat of the trousers of the templar that patrols the library."

'_First interesting thing you've said this whole conversation, old man..._'

"Do that for old Sweeney, won't you? Bastard's always giving me the stink-eye."

"I'll see if I can manage that." Xanatos replied, that smile still plastered on his face. If he were going to use a rod of fire on a templar, he'd rather just roast the _entire_ templar.

"You be on your way now."

All too happy for the dismissal, Xanatos took off with a huff of relief and headed back to the stockroom, and back to Owain.

Suddenly, he was wishing he was listening to Sweeney's boring stories again.

"Welcome to the Circle's stockroom-" Owain began his introduction.

"Here," Xanatos said, holding the signed form out to him, "is the signed form for the rod of fire." Owain took the form, looking it over.

"Everything looks to be in order." Owain stepped back into the stockroom for a moment, picked up a long, thing box and opened it, retrieving the item in question, stepping back out and handing it out to Xanatos. "Here is the rod you requested."

Xanatos was happy to take it, mutter some thanks, and was off back to the chapel.

* * *

When he returned, the group worked out a plan to get down into the basement. Within the next hour, the three had split up within the Circle Tower, planning to meet downstairs in the basement to avoid attention. Xanatos would be the first to enter, and he sat in the catacombs waiting for the others to show. Jowan was last, looking apologetic.

"Sorry...I had to wait until the guards changed."

"It doesn't matter, let's get this over with." Xanatos said, and the three made their way toward the first door, though not the one they needed the rod of fire for, apparently, since Lily shook her head as Xanatos took the item from his robes.

"The Chantry calls this entrance the 'Victim's Door'." Lily explained. "It is built of two hundred and seventy-seven planks, one for each original template."

"Thanks for the history lesson." Xanatos quipped.

"It is a reminder of all the dangers those cursed with magic pose." Lily added, ignoring his comment.

"How do we get _past_ it?" Xanatos asked, figuring if it were not the rod of fire, it would have to be something else.

"The doors can be opened only by a templar and a mage, entering together." Lily told them.

"...well, you could have easily brought _that_ to our attention _beforehand_..." Xanatos had placed his hand against his head. Oh, yes, just a _pleasant_ little _jaunt_ down to the repository...no big problem...oh, wait! Now there was! His mind began racing to think how they could possibly get a templar to assist them. Perhaps one of the dumber ones...like that Cullen fellow.

"The Chantry provides the password, which primes the ward, and the mage touches it with mana to release it." Lily explained.

"I'm guessing you have the password, then?" Xanatos asked, his hand sliding from against his face. Lily nodded. "Then why can't Jowan help you enter?"

"The ward only responds to the touch of one who has been through the Harrowing." She explained, and suddenly it made more sense to him. Not just an errand boy for the rod of fire, it seemed.

"Alright." Xanatos nodded.

Lily turned on her heel to face the door, raising a hand and bowing her head in supplication. "Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade." There was a sudden hum, and Xanatos felt his long hair blown back slightly in the breeze.

"Is that it?" He asked, rising himself. "Can we enter now?"

"The password only primes the door. Now it must feel the touch of mana."

Gathering up his energies, Xanatos faced the door. With the raw energies of mana from the Fade, he sent a blast of blue light, a dispelling burst, toward the door. It responded and opened. They quickly moved through.

"This must be the repository door..." Xanatos said, looking to an eeriely similiar door in the room they had just entered.

"Melt the locks off!" Jowan said, and Xanatos already had the item in hand, raising it and priming it with mana before he lunged forward toward the door.

Nothing happened.

The three of them looked between the rod and the door, then back again several times. Still, no result.

"W-What's the matter?" Lily gasped. "Why isn't it working?" Xanatos lunged forward once again. Not so much as a spark was generated, the rod simply touching the cold metal of the door.

"Lily, something's not right..." Jowan said, waving his hands in a manner akin to casting spells, and finding himself utterly useless for it. "I...can't cast spells here. Nothing works." Quickly, Xanatos raised his own hand, a blue lightning crackling around his fingers before he dismissed it. So it was only non-Harrowed mages who could not perform magic in here. His eyes passed over some carvings made in the stone.

"These wards carved into the stone..." Lily said, noticing the carvings as well.

"Templars' work." Xanatos said. "Anything we cast at that door isn't going to work." To illustrate the point, he conjured up his lightning once more and blasted it toward the door. As he had predicted, the electricity disappated before it even came close to the metal surface.

"I should have guessed!" Lily cried, clearly not having planned for this at all. "How do you keep mages away from something? Make their powers completely worthless!" She paced about the chamber now, shaking from her panic that threatened to overtake her. "That's it then! We're finished! We can't get in!"

"Get a hold of yourself!" Xanatos snapped, and Lily shook, looking to him, but did her best to straighten right up. His mind raced, trying to think of something they could do...and then his eyes caught the smooth metal of another door. "...that door there. Where does it lead?"

"I...I don't know." Lily's voice was still trembling even as she had stilled herself. "Do you think it's another way in?"

"That door probably leads to another part of the repository." Jowan brought up. "What are the chances of their being another entrance?"

"It wouldn't make sense to have just one entrance." Xanatos said. "Someone could get trapped down there, and then where would they be? Stuck. Let's try it."

"We can try, but I don't think it'll be easy." Lily said. "It looks locked, for one."

"Right, and locks are such a pain." Xanatos said, scanning the frame and seeing the door had no glyphs as the one directly into the repository did. "Oh, wait!" He said, taking out the rod of fire. He walked over. This door was of simple wood, and it only took a flick of the rod to get a line of fire burning brightly, searing through the lock like a hot knife through butter.

As soon as it opened, the suit of armor standing next to it sprang to life, wielding a wicked-looking battleaxe as it lifted the weapon to take off Jowan's head. It got a blast of pure mana from him, followed by the crush of a mace against the back of its helmet before it laid still on the floor.

"I think we're going to have a harder time than we thought..." Jowan muttered.

"Keep your eyes peeled." Xanatos said. "Let's go..."

* * *

There were more, of course, groups of armored knights and more as they went on. More defenses and enchantments to block their path, strengthening Xanatos's belief that they were more than on the right track. Unfortunately, the best defenses of the Circle were no match for a newly-Harrowed Mage, a Chantry initiate, and an apprentice.

'_If this is all the greatest of mages can do, then we need help, not protection..._' The first of those three thought as they made their way through the winding corridors. Even so, he was looking back every so often. Whether or not the collective knowledge and power of Ferelden's mages and enchanters was dangerous, Xanatos was smart enough to know the blades of the templars were not only dangerous but very, very real and needed no energy from the Fade to work.

They found another door at the end of the path, opening it to find...another part of the repository as Jowan had predicted.

"Well, that's it!" Jowan sighed.

"Wait..." Xanatos said. He stepped over to a bookcase not far off. "The phlyactery chamber is on the other side of this wall."

"...how do you know?" Jowan asked.

"I counted the steps..." Xanatos said. "Here, help me move this..."

"Right, if we work together, we can shift it." Jowan said, taking once side while Xanatos took the other. Together, they easily moved it aside. "You're right, Xanatos! It's weak in spots."

"This statue, it's Elvhen...and magical." Xanatos said, looking to a statue that had been brought into the room. "If I had to guess...it might amplify the power of the rod."

"Maybe it can knock some of the bricks loose in the wall!" Jowan said excitedly.

"Maybe just..." Xanatos said, taking the rod out once more, pointing it toward the statue of the wolf. From its maw, a massive blast of flame erupted, heading right towards the bricks, which exploded in an amazing burst of red and orange...and then, like that, the path was opened for them.

"This is the phylactery chamber!" Jowan was beside himself with joy. It had _worked_!

"We must find Jowan's phylactery! Quickly!" Lily said as the three rushed in.

"It's a pity they've taken mine to Denerim already." Xanatos replied glumly, looking at the wall where literally dozens of phylacteries were stacked on the shelves, those of apprentices who had not yet taken their Harrowing.

"Would you destroy yours, too? If it were here?" Jowan asked, and Xanatos considered that. Though he towed the line, he absolutely despised the Circle. The Chantry and Templars always kept their leashes tight upon the mages. He looked forward to a day when that would change, when mages would be free. But it was really a non-issue at this point.

"There's little point in discussing that. It's not here."

"Right..." Jowan muttered as they headed toward the stairs to get to the phylactery shelves. "Look for it, it has to still be here..." They spread out looking through the shelves. One phial of brown-red liquid for every apprentice there.

"Here!" Xanatos said, finding the bottle that had a label reading "Jowan". This was, in fact, the bit of blood that had been taken from his friend when he joined the Circle.

"Destroy it." Lily said, her tone hushed. "I do not wish to stay here a moment longer..." With that, Jowan took the vial and threw it with all his might at the far wall, where the glass shattered and the blood smeared the surface in a large impact splattering. Even if they could recover the blood and put it back into a new vial, it would be useless now to try and track him with it.

"C'mon, let's go. Quickly." Xanatos said. He supposed, next, that they would have to plan an escape. Now that Jowan's leash was gone, they had only a limited amount of time. Sure, there were no Templar patrols, but someone would eventually come and see that it had been destroyed.

And then, there would be no stopping them.

"I think this is the door we started at." Jowan said, walking up a set of steps to a door that swung open at his touch, that same hum at the Door of Victims heard again as the magic was primed and then discharged. "Come on!"

* * *

When they got free of the basement, that feeling of victory quickly turned dark and promptly died in agony on the floor. The templars were there, dozens. And the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter. Literally none of them looked the least bit pleased about the three exiting the basement at that exact moment.

"So...what you said is true, Irving." Greagoir said in a tone that sounded...disappointed, almost.

"G-Greagoir..." Lily began.

"An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage," The Knight-Commander looked upon her with disdain, "I'm disappointed, Lily." He turned, looking to Irving. "She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then." He turned to glare at Jowan, who cowered back only slightly. "You were right, Irving." He said as he turned back to the First Enchanter. "The intiaite has betrayed us. The Chantry will not let this go unpunished."

"And this one!" Greagoir nearly spat his anger, apparently having been saving it as he pointed his gauntleted finger toward Xanatos. "Newly a mage, already flouting the rules of the Circle!"

"I am disappointed in you." Irving looked upon Xanatos, and for the first time he felt shame for his actions. "You could have told me what you knew of this plan, and you didn't."

Before he could reply, Jowan roared out, "You don't care for the mages! You just bow to the Chantry's every whim!" Xanatos couldn't find an argument with that statement. Maker, he didn't _want_ to!

"He's right!" Xanatos balled his hand into a fist. "You don't. You don't care for the apprentices at all!" Irving looked shocked at the sudden outbursts, then his face receded once more into stoicism.

"Enough!" Greagoir snapped, raising his hands as his templars were creeping into position, Xanatos had not missed their movements, nor had he waited to move his other hand to grasp his staff once more. If they were going to kill them, then it was time to go down fighting. "As Knight-Commander of the templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death!" He turned, pointing to Lily. "And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows! Take her to the Aconar."

'_The Aeonar?!_' Xanatos knew well of the mages' prison. It was the only thing more feared than the Harrowing among the initiates, causing most to tow the line completely out of fear of being sent there. Only a few Templars knew where it was, and none ever returned from it. Lily was no mage...if they were willing to send _her_ there...

"NO!" Jowan's voice bellowed through the chambers, catching all offguard. "I won't let you touch her!"From his robes, he produced a knife and Xanatos watched, mouth agape, as his friend plunged it into his palm. The blood that fell from his hand created an eerie gust at his feet, arcane in nature as he raised his bloodied hands.

Suddenly, one by one, the Templars fell over and were racked by unimaginable pain (most dying instantly), as were the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter. All but Lily and Jowan were hit by the sudden shockwave. Xanatos recovered just in time to see Jowan, hands bloodied, approaching the newly-frightened and trembling Lily. "By...by the Maker. Blood magic? H-how could you, Jowan? You never.."

"I admit, I dabbled in it!" Jowan was clearly trying to stumble through an explanation. "I thought it would make me a better mage!"

"Blood magic is _evil_, Jowan!" Lily spat back at him. "It corrupts people..._changes_ them..."

More Chantry rhetoric, though Xanatos had no inclination to chide it at this exact moment. Right now, he felt anger settling into him as he struggled to stand. He's been _betrayed_!

"I'm going to give it up!" Jowan cried out, on the verge of tears seeing how he'd harmed her so. "All magic. I just want to be with you, Lily! Please, come with me..." He stepped forward, she stepped back against the wall.

"I trust you...I was ready sacrifice everything for you...I...I don't know who you are, _blood mage_." She dove under his arm and turned around, backing away from him again. "Stay away from me..." Xanatos could see the horror, mixed with anger in Jowan's eyes, could literally see the man crumbling before him as his love rejected him. The remaining templars were rising and, as Xanatos finally got back to his feet, he saw the doors of the Circle close where Jowan had run through them.

He was gone.

Immediately, Xanatos went over to Irving, helping the First Enchanter to stand. "Are you alright?" Irving asked, apparently far more charitable towards him than Xanatos thought he'd be. He nodded to the older man. "Where is Greagoir?"

"I knew it..." Greagoir was standing again, regrettably having survived the attack of Jowan. "A blood mage. But to overcome so many...I never thought him capable of such power..."

'_Nor did I..._' Xanatos thought, still enraged at the actions of his friend. He never would have thought Jowan would betray him in such a way. '_You could have told me, Jowan!_' He had no idea what he would do now. The plan had fallen apart, and things did not look remotely good for him.

"He _lied_ to me!" The mage was trembling with that anger, hardly caring what happened now. All he wanted to do was to find Jowan and rip his throat out.

"None of us expected _this_..." Irving pointed out as he rose with Xanatos's aid. "Are you alright, Greagoir?"

"As good as can be expected!" Greagoir snapped, the Knight-Commander was angrier than Xanatos had ever seen him. "If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened! Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down!"

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Xanatos snapped right back at him, catching the old templar offguard for a brief moment.

"Where is the girl?" Greagoir asked, deciding to leave that line of questioning alone for now.

"I...I am here, ser..." Lily's voice sounded meeker than Xanatos had ever heard it, seeing where she had slunk away by the stairs down into the basement from whence they'd come.

"You helped a blood mage!" Greagoir apparently thought taken on a weak Chantry initiate was better for his rage than a young mage in his prime. "Look at all he's hurt!" He pointed toward the bodies of the templars who had been knocked down and would never get up again.

"You forced Jowan's hand!" Xanatos pointed out, not letting the Knight-Commander get off that easily. Before he could respond to him, however, Lily spoke up.

"Knight-Commander...I was wrong. I...I was accomplice to a...a..._blood mage_. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even...even Aeonar..."

"Get her out of my sight!" Greagoir snapped, not wanting to deal with this at the moment, gesturing to two of the remaining Templars, who moved to each side of Lily and escorted her away. She did not look back, though Xanatos could see she was trying her damnedest to fight back tears. "And _you_!" He spun around on Xanatos, his anger not yet vented and now thinking he had more of an advantage. "You know why the repository exists. Some artifacts – some magics – are locked away for a reason!"

"Yes," Xanatos snapped, "because you lack just enough stupidity to _not_ be afraid." Magic was feared, and there was plenty of reason to be afraid of it. But those that could use magic responsibly should not be punished as so. Not that Xanatos expected the Knight-Commander to break through the years upon years of Chantry lies about it and understand that.

"Your antics have made a mockery of this Circle!" The Knight-Commander replied without a beat. "Ah...what are we going to do with you?" He asked, sighing in his frustrations of what had been, until this point, a fairly normal day.

"Jowan's the one you want, not me!" He attempted to appeal to the templar's want to kill blood mages.

"_You_ helped a blood mage escape!" Greagoir snapped back. "All our prevention measures for naught...because of _you_!"

"Knight-Commander..." Xanatos heard the voice and turned to see...the Wardens. Duncan was speaking, at his side his Highever recruit and the Mabari. They looked ready to travel. "If I may...I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens." Xanatos could not deny that his interest was piqued. "Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like him to join the Warden ranks."

"Duncan," Irving said, a tone of caution on his voice, "this mage has assisted a maleficar, and shown a lack of regard for the Circle's rules." So he _was_ still disappointed.

"He is a danger," Greagoir once more had to open his mouth, "to _all_ of us." Xanatos assumed that that would be the end of it, until Duncan spoke again.

"It is a rare person who risks all for a friend in need."

'_Yeah...friend...not anymore..._' Xanatos thought. Jowan had his freedom now, and he had better make sure that he never run into his old _friend_ ever again.

"I stand by my decision, I will recruit this mage." Duncan finished.

"No!" Greagoir roared, slamming his fist against the stone wall. "I refuse to let this go unpunished!"

"I've always hoped to prove myself as a mage." Xanatos said after a moment's deliberation, shooting the Knight-Commander a daring smirk that only made the man's face turn even redder in his rage.

"Greagoir, mages are needed." Duncan's voice was rather soothing as he tried to calm the templar. "This mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages...you know that." Duncan placed his hand upon Xanatos's shoulder. "I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for his actions."

"A blood mage escapes, and his accomplice is not only _unpunished_, but is _rewarded_ by becoming a Grey Warden?!" The Knight-Commander yelled incredulous of the whole situation. "Are our rules nothing?! Have we lost all authority over our mages?!"

"Enough..." Irving raised an open palm, silencing his colleague. "We have no more say in this matter." Greagoir, outraged and defeated, threw up his hands and departed with the rest of his templars, leaving only the one on his normal guard station.

"So I am to be a Grey Warden..." Xanatos mused aloud, thinking it over.

"Yes..." Irving said, turning back to him. "Be proud, child. You are luckier than you know." Xanatos once more met the First Enchanter's eyes, and there was a moment between them. A myriad of emotions flowed between student and mentor. Joy...anger...sadness...regret...all within a moment. Irving gave a small smile, as did Xanatos back to him.

"Thank you for everything, First Enchanter." He said simply. Irving nodded. Duncan clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to move toward the other recruit.

"Come. Your new life awaits." With that, he turned, and headed off with Duncan and his Highever recruit.

* * *

**A/N: **Slightly shorter chapter, but at least we got the Origins out of the way. From here on out, we're have less dialogue as from the game and more open and free form (I hope) barring certain events later on. Next chapter will be Ostagar, and a little more on the characters of Malcolm and Xanatos. Will they get along? Will Malcolm's desire for revenge and Xanatos's ambitions collide and be beneficial to stopping the Blight?

Oh, suddenly the plot thickens, doesn't it? The twists, the turns, all that jazz.

By the way, the reviews are always welcome. I promise, I won't bite...unless you ask me to.

...and I probably won't, so don't get your hopes up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**  
Forewarned Is Forearmed

It was only a few days to Ostagar from there. Most of the trip saw silence or small talk between the three men, mostly Duncan initiating it. Malcolm found himself in little mood to talk, and the other recruit – the mage – was not really the chatty type it seemed. Duncan filled their last day of travel by speaking of the current situation at Ostagar. Darkspawn had been swarming the Kocari Wilds, but no archdemon had been seen..._yet_, as Duncan was sure to emphasis.

Duncan kept them at a grueling, but fair, pace and by midday on the second day of travel from Circle Tower, they reached Ostagar. The Warden-Commander was speaking of the danger they faced with so few Grey Wardens not only at Ostagar, but Ferelden in general. All of them were here for the battle, however, with the prediction that – if not tonight, the horde would attack en masse _soon_.

A man approached, surrounded by an entourage of knights. The man was youthful, only a bit older than he, yet wore a suit of gold that of ornate craft and make. Malcolm recognized him immediately and, as per tradition, took a knee before King Cailan Therein of Ferelden.

"Ho there, Duncan!" The King did not seem to have noticed him quite yet, greeting the Warden-Commander first. He reached out, and Duncan took his hand for a shake.

"King Cailan? I didn't expect-"

"A royal welcome?" Cailan seemed the very model of mirth and joy as he finished the Grey Warden's sentence. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty." Duncan replied.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!" Cailan gave a broad smile. Malcolm noticed the difference in tone immediately. Cailan almost sounded like a child playacting, rather than someone taking things seriously. '_Oh, Maker's breath is that what _I_ sound like?_' He dreaded the thought. "The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit?"

"Two, your Majesty." Duncan said. "Allow me to introduce-"

"No need, Duncan," Cailan said, looking to Malcolm, "please, do get up. No formalities on the battlefield. You are Bryce's youngest, are you not?" The king gestured for Malcolm to rise, he did so. "I don't think we've ever actually met."

"Yes, your Majesty." He nodded. "My name is Malcolm." He waited to tell him about Howe, he would wait for just a bit, until he could ease it into the conversation without rambling on.

"Your brother has already arrived with Highever's men," Cailan said, and Malcolm felt a rush of relief at the revelation that his brother was alive and well, "but we are still awaiting your father." He felt that crushing pain in his chest once more at the words.

"You don't know what's happened?" Malcolm asked, then immediately wondered how he could. Fergus would not have known, and he doubted that news would have traveled so far so fast. And even if it had, it likely would have been Howe's words, not the truth.

"News from the north has been unreliable." Cailan said, a coloring of concerning coming over his features. "What's happened?"

"Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty." Duncan said. "Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle." Cailan's face twisted into horror, stepping away for a moment to gather himself as Duncan continued. "If we had not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished."

"I..." Malcolm could see the rage on his face as he turned about. "I can scarcely believe it! How could he think he would get away with such treachery?" He turned to Malcolm, looking him in the eye. " As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word."

"Thank you, your Majesty." Malcolm said, relieved that – at last – the nightmare was over. After this, a life of servitude to the Grey Wardens didn't sound too bad at all.

"No doubt you wish to see your brother. Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds." Malcolm frowned at the words.

"I am...not eager to tell him, you Majesty." Malcolm felt that twinge of pain again. He supposed it was one last part of it he'd have to endure, telling him of their parents' fate and...his mind went back to the memory of Oren lying dead on that stone floor. He pushed the memory aside for now. Grieving could come later.

"Of that, I have no doubt." Cailan's face was a sympathetic one. "You will see him again once the battle is over, I am certain." Malcolm nodded, as the king turned to the other. "I apologize, but there's nothing more I can do for the moment. All I suggest is that you vent your grief against teh darkspawn for the time being."

"Yes, your Majesty." Malcolm nodded. "Thank you." Cailan's eyes flickered over to the mage.

"Ho there, friend." Cailan said. "Might I know your name?"

"I highly doubt it, but anything is possible." Xanatos's reply came, and Malcolm found himself staring, horrified, at the man's tone of blatant disrespect. The mage stared at the King with a look that could only be described as absolute loathing.

To his surprise once more, Cailan laughed. "You've got yourself a lively one, Duncan. And I was beginning to think the Wardens were all stodgy priests!"

'_Is he serious?_' Malcolm pondered, wondering if the King were just saving face for the time being.

"I understand you hail from a Circle of Magi. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?" Cailan asked.

"That is why I'm here, your Majesty." Xanatos said in that completely dead, blank tone.

"Excellent. We have too few mages here, another is always welcome." Cailan said cheerfully, before he stepped back to face both recruits. "Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with the pair of you in their ranks."

"You're too kind, your Majesty." Malcolm said before Xanatos could say anything more.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent." Cailan said. "Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe fores could be here in less than a week." Duncan said. Malcolm remembered that the Warden had mentioned passing through the area on his way to Highever. Cailan laughed again.

"Eamon just wants in on the glory." He said. "We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."

"I didn't realize things were going so well." Malcolm said, no small amount of surprise in his voice. Cailan was selling things with raw confidence, as Fergus often did, but this was...a bit much, given Duncan's attitude and the news they had heard.

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight." Cailan said. "There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

"Disappointed, your majesty?" Duncan asked.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales!" That boyish enthusiasm was back again. "A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!" He sighed. "But I suppose this will have to do. I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!"

With that, the King and his entourage headed back across the long, stone bridge that separated their position from the rest of the camp, leaving the Wardens alone. Malcolm gave his salute as the king passed, two arms crossed over the chest, as he watched Xanatos, who seemed less than impressed.

"What the king said is true." Duncan said, calling back the attention of his recruits. "They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."

"Yet you don't sound very reassured." Malcolm said. Duncan gestured for them to take the path that the king had, walking toward the bridge.

"Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us." Duncan explained with their steps. "I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

"You could if he were not such a fool." Xanatos said, again without any regard.

"You must not speak of the king so," Duncan warned gently, "He is..._over-eager_, perhaps, but he is also one of the few Grey Warden allies. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."

The Joining? Had they not already joined?

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked. "What ritual?"

"Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become Grey Wardens." Duncan explained. "The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon."

"Why is the ritual so secret?" Xanatos brought up, a line of questioning Malcolm would not have thought to ask.

"The Joining is dangerous." Duncan answered. "I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn all in good time. Both of you." He looked between the two. "Until then, you must trust that what is done is necessary."

They both nodded.

"Feel free to explore the camp as you wish. All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being." Duncan said. "There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits. Until then, I have business to attend to. You may find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, if you need me."

With that, and with Clavicus surprisingly trotting off after him, Duncan headed across the bridge.

"Well...that's that, then." Malcolm mused aloud.

* * *

"What?" Xanatos cocked his head over to look at him. The young Cousland looked completely lost in thought.

"Nothing." His newest companion said. Xanatos didn't care much for him already, and even that last little exchange with the King had done little to improve his opinion.

"So...you're the Teyrn of Highever's son."

"Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"That wasn't a question, it was a statement." Xanatos looked him over. "I knew you were no soldier from the moment I saw you."

"Your point?"

"You said this Arl Howe killed your family, took your castle," Xanatos said.

"Yes, that's right." Malcolm nodded, not understanding him.

"Then why didn't you face him directly? End it before it became an issue."

"I had to trust his Majesty to mete out justice..." The words didn't seem genuine in the least. They were hollow, trained.

"Are you trying to convince yourself or me?" Xanatos took a bit of delight as the young warrior's face turned scarlet. '_Oh, he's going to be as fun as Greagoir..._'

"I trust the King." Malcolm finally replied when he did. "There is a precedent for this sort of thing."

"The last time I trusted a set precedent, I was locked up in a tower for being able to set things on fire." Xanatos rolled his eyes.

"The Circle exists to help mages control their abilities." Malcolm said. "It's there to protect them as much as it protects the common folk from magic..."

"Yes, just because I can send bolts of lightning through the air, I should be locked away in a tower to protect others from me." Xanatos said.

"And to protect you from yourself."

"I don't _need_ protecting." Xanatos was rolling his eyes once more. "I know well what I'm capable of and how to use that power."

"Duncan thinks you are." Malcolm said. "I hope that you prove yourself worthy of his trust."

"I'm not here to _prove_ anything to anyone..." The mage snorted derisively.

"What you _are_ here for remains to be seen..." The warrior gave in reply before he started off across the bridge. "Besides annoying me..."

Xanatos shot a bemused smile at his back, and followed.

* * *

'_Get through this battle...find Fergus...Howe pays at the end of it all. Simple enough._' The thoughts kept going through Malcolm's head as he now tried to focus on that first part, getting through the battle with his hide intact. No easy task, he knew, even for one of his skill.

'_But what if Fergus doesn't survive?_' He remembered touting up Fergus's skill to Oren.

"_No darkspawn can harm Fergus!_" He had laughed, he had joked.

'_He could die..._' Malcolm shook his head, taking deep breaths. '_Stop_.' He could not allow himself to be distracted, not now. His mind sunk back into the training that he had gone through. Ser Gilmore had always told him that the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind was fear. To deny that fear was to man oneself not truly human, it was better to accept it, to allow that fear to pass over and through oneself.

To use it as a weapon.

"Oh, I'm sorry..." Malcolm said, stepping back as he realized he had nearly walked into an older woman wearing mage robes.

"It's quite alright, young man," The woman who he had just narrowly avoided barrelling right into spoke. She looked to be about his parents' age, give or take a few years. "You are Duncan's new recruit, are you not?"

"Aye." Malcolm nodded. "One of them."

"He's not a man easily impressed. You should be proud." She said. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Wynne, one of the mages summoned by the king." He remembered her name, she had been mentioned by the Knight-Commander at the Circle as one of the mages who had been sent here to Ostagar.

"I am Malcolm." He said, with a polite tone. "Pleased to meet you."

"Well met, and good luck to you on the battlefield. To us all, in fact." Wynne said, a warm smile on her lips.

"Will you be fighting beside the king?" Malcolm asked.

"Not precisely." Wynne shook her head. "The Grey Wardens will be on the front lines, not the mages. Still, we have our parts to play. To defeat the darkspawn, we have to work together. It's...not an idea everyone seems able to grasp."

Malcolm supposed that was true. This was a gathering of warriors, mages, and the like. All of them to defeat this threat. This was not the time for egos and agendas to be overruling the most basic need of the survival of the whole.

"Have you...faced darkspawn before?" Malcolm asked, trying to sound braver than he felt. It occurred to him that he hadn't before, but he had heard stories. Terrible stories of their ferocity, their savage brutality as they tore apart all life they could find.

"Stragglers, yes," Wynne nodded, "not the vast horde the scouts speak of." She gave him an appraising look for a moment as she paused for breath. "I wonder...how much do you know about the connection between darkspawn and the Fade?" Malcolm considered this for a moment, remembering the lessons of Mother Mallol.

"The Chantry teaches that the first darkspawn were created by magisters from Tevinter who tried to breach into the Golden City," Malcolm said, "but they failed, the city turned black, and they were cast back as the first darkspawn."

"An apt, if brief, summation of what we know of those events, yes." Wynne nodded, seemingly quite impressed. "At least, as the Chant of Light says."

"You don't think it's true?" Malcolm asked.

"Of course it's not true!" Xanatos, coming up, was there to roll his eyes. "Just the Chantry spreading their fear of magic."

"Xanatos..." Wynne looked pointedly to him, like a chiding mother to a child.

"You...know each other?" Malcolm asked, looking between the old mage and his fellow recruit.

"We come from the same Circle," Xanatos said, "we've met...once or twice."

"I've never tutored him, but I've known of him since he was a child." Wynne looked upon her fellow mage. "I've heard congratulations are in order. You completed your Harrowing."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Xanatos gave a look that could be considered nothing but utter smugness.

"You know all there is to know already, do you?" Wynne laughed. "Irving said as much about you..._remarkable_ self-confidence."

'_Conceit, more like it..._' Malcolm thought, but allowed the two mages to talk.

"I am quite confident in my skills, Senior Enchanter." Xanatos answered her.

"Good. You'll need them when you face the darkspawn."

"They're mindless beasts," Xanatos said, "they swarm and they destroy. Nothing more. Certainly not the creation of some angry deity."

"You think not?" Wynne asked.

"I think if the Maker wanted to punish mortals for their hubris, he could come up with something a bit better than a brainless horde of beasts."

"You may think differently once you face them," Wynne said, before turning her attention back to Malcolm, "whether the story is truth or merely an allegory to teach that our own evil causes human suffering, it is as good an explanation as any, for now."

"At least it's something to ponder." Malcolm said.

"Yes, occasionally it is wise to contemplate one's actions." Wynne nodded once more. "But I'm certain Duncan has more for you two to do than talk to me."

Goodbyes were shared, the two soon-to-be Wardens walking off.

* * *

"You don't believe in the Maker?" Malcolm asked. Xanatos rolled his eyes. The discussion with Wynne, he believed, would have made that clear enough.

"Not particularly." He replied as they made their way through the camp, with no clear destination in mind it seemed. "Why didn't Duncan tell us _where_ we would find this other Warden...what was the name?"

"Alistair." Malcolm said.

"Him, yes." Xanatos nodded.

"I suppose we'll just have to keep looking around," Malcolm shrugged, "he's bound to be somewhere in the camp."

"Well, that just pinpoints him right away, thanks." The mage snorted. "Do the nobility not actually _bother_ to teach their children to have brains?"

"Festis bei umo canavarum." The youngest of the Couslands said, surprising Xanatos.

"...you know Tevene?" He honestly didn't think he' be genuinely _impressed_. Tevene was a language that was not commonly spoken outside of the Imperium, even within the Circle.

"Conversational, yes." Malcolm said. "My parents believed it would be prudent."

"Well, Cousland, you're just _full_ of surprises..."

"Wait until you see me fight." Malcolm replied with a grin, stepping ahead. "This way, I think." He said, pointing to the ruins of a temple nearby.

"...how do you know?" Xanatos asked, a brow raised.

"Intuition." Malcolm said, leading the way.

"You have no idea, do you?"

"Nope."

The mage sighed and followed him up the steps. Another turn brought them up to a raised platform where a man in armor was talking with another mage, one of the Senior Enchanter's that Xanatos recognized from the Circle, but could not remember by name.

"What is it _now_?" The mage asked arms folded over his chest as he gave the man in Grey Warden armor (Xanatos recognized it by the insignia on the breast plate). "Haven't Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"

"I simply came to deliver a message from ther revered mother, ser mage." The Grey Warden said. "She desires your presence."

"What her reverance _desires_ is no cocern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens." The mage retorted. "By the king's orders, I might add!"

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" The Grey Warden asked with a mock-innocent tone that managed to pull a snicker from both Xanatos and Malcolm. The mage looked over at them with an irritating glance, then back to the Grey Warden.

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"

"Yes, _I _was harassing _you _by delivering a message."

"Your glibness does you no credit."

"Here I thought we were getting along so well." The Grey Warden said. "I was even going to name one of my children after you...the _grumpy_ one..."

"Enough!" The mage huffed in frustration. "I will speak to the woman if I must! Get out of my way, fool!" He nudged his way past the Grey Warden, and the two recruits moved aside to let him pass.

"You know," after he had left, the Grey Warden got their attention. "one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

"I know exactly what you mean." Malcolm said, a bit of a sardonic smile playing on the warrior's lips.

"It's like a party. We could all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the darkspawn something to think about." The Grey Warden said.

"...what?" Xanatos found himself utterly confused. '_Andraste's flaming knickers, they're multiplying..._'

"Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose either of you happen to be another mage?" The Warden asked.

"I am not." Malcolm said.

"Would that make your day worse?" Xanatos asked, raising a hand and giving a cheeky grin.

"Hardly, I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment." The Warden answered.

'_Well isn't he a snarky one?_'

"Wait, I do know you. You're Duncan's recruits right? Two of them?" He asked. "I should have recognized you both right away, I apologize."

"You must be Alistair." Malcolm said.

"Did Duncan mention me?" Alistair nodded. "Nothing bad, I hope. As the jnior member of the Order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining." Xanatos found his interest piqued once again at the mention. What was it? Some further test?

"Well, I'm Malcolm. Of the Couslands of Highever." Malcolm said, introducing himself. "And this is-"

"Xanatos the First." Xanatos cut in, deciding to respond with his own snark. "King of Antiva. How do you do?"

"That would explain the accent." Alistair was quick to fire right back, however. Before Xanatos could make a rebuttal, he continued. "So, I'm curious. Have either of you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"

Both shook their heads.

"When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering another." Alistair confided.

'_A Grey Warden that doesn't want to fight darkspawn? Really?_' Xanatos quirked a brow, but said nothing.

"Anyhow, when you're ready, we should hit the quartermaster's tent and see if your armor is prepared. And then we should head back to Duncan." The Warden finished off his speech. "I imagine he's eager to get things started."

"Armor?" Malcolm asked.

"Oh, yes." Alistair nodded. "The Grey Wardens do have armor with their own standards, robes as well." He said, gesturing to Xanatos. "You'll need the proper equipment before going into battle."

"Sounds fine to me." Xanatos said.

"I look forward to travelling with you." Malcolm said.

"You do?" Alistair looked genuinely surprised. "Huh. That's a switch...if either of you have any questions, let me know. Otherwise, lead on."

* * *

Malcolm found himself really taking a shine to Alistair as they went along, the two immediately hitting it off quite well. The two talked a bit about the Grey Wardens, Alistair asking Malcolm if he had wanted to join the Wardens and him giving a little detail about that, and Alistair in kind telling about how he'd been conscripted by Duncan from templar training.

"A templar?" Malcolm asked, surprised. "You were a mage-hunter?"

"That's right." Alistair nodded, and Malcolm could see Xanatos shoot the man a look of disgust behind his back before he went a bit ahead toward the tent that marked their destination. "But joining the Chantry wasn't my idea. My fate was decdied for me long before that." He clearly had some mixed emotions concerning the memories. "Duncan saw I wasn't happy, and I figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn. Now, here I stand, a proud Grey Warden."

He struck a mock-heroic pose. Malcolm laughed.

"The grand cleric wouldn't have let me go if Duncan never forced the issue. I'll always be grateful to him." Malcolm supposed that made them kindred spirits, in a way. If Duncan hadn't gotten his Father to let him leave, he never would have gone. He would have died back in Highever with his family.

"You speak very fondly of Duncan." He said.

"I spent years in that chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate," Alistair said, "Duncan was the first person who cared what _I_ wanted. He risked a lot of trouble with the grand cleric to help me." It did help to see Duncan in a whole new light, knowing he went out of his way to help just one man from his situation.

He remembered the lessons that Mother Mallol used to teach, that sometimes the grandest acts of heroism weren't that grand at all – merely simple little acts done from one soul to another. Though Malcolm doubted she _exactly_ meant challenging a Grand Cleric for it. He was about to question further when they reached the tent and were ushered in.

Within a few moments, Malcolm had changed from his leathers into very fine plate armor. "It fits so well." Malcolm said.

"Aye," The quartermaster said, "the Wardens tend to favor manuverability over defense, but you can't say they don't work well."

"Their robes seem much the same." Xanatos returned, having ditched his brown and yellow robes of the Circle Mages for the Grey Warden robes – blue and gray tunic that covered from just below the collar bone to the knees, black leggings, and his boots. He rested against his staff.

"Good enough for a mage." Malcolm said. "Light armoring by the looks of it."

"I just make sure the darkspawn don't get close enough to test it." Xanatos sniped. "Any heavier and it would interfere with my spellcasting."

"Alright, come on now." Alistair said once they were good and ready, leading them away from the tent to head back to the main Grey Warden tent. Duncan stood by a roaring fire. Instead of the white robes over his armor, Duncan now wore armor not dissimiliar to Malcolm's, his blades still at his back as he waited with two others in similiar dress.

The other recruits Duncan had spoken of in passing.

"Good, I'll assume you are ready to begin preparations." Duncan said, looking to the group as they approached. He looked to Alistair with a knowing glance. "Assuming, of course, that you're quite finished riling up mages, Alistair."

"What can I say?" Alistair raised his hands defensively. "The revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army."

"She forced you to sass the mage, did she?" Duncan asked and Alistair sighed and shook his head. "We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

Alistair muttered his apologies.

"This is Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe." Alistair said, gesturing to a tall, balding man in the armor of a knight with a greatsword at his back.

"How do you do?" He gave the normal pleasanties, bowing his head respectfully towards his two fellow recruits. He was bit older than Ser Gilmore had been, likely he had been a knight for some time. Hopefully that skill would be put to good use.

"And this here is Daveth a...fellow...from Denerim." Alistair gestured to the man off to the side. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes, and was twiddling an arrow between his fingers just so. An archer, it seemed.

"That's me." He said, with a bright grin. "I'm a fellow."

"And these are not one, but two recruits that Duncan has brought to us." Alistair said, gesturing to Malcolm and Xanatos. "Malcolm Cousland of Highever and Xanatos Amell of the Circle Tower."

"I am honored to be in your company, my lord." Ser Jory said, giving a nod towards Malcolm.

"Oh, really, it's not necessary." Xanatos butted in, giving a grin once he saw the knight's clear shock.

"I...what I meant..."

"He knows what you mean." Malcolm said, shaking his head.

"Now then," Duncan said, "since you are all here, we can begin." He looked to the group. "You five will be heading into the Kocari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain four vials of darkspawn blood. One for each recruit." To each of them, he hand an empty flask for the blighted blood.

"And what's the second task?" Daveth asked, after accepting his vial from Duncan.

"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts." Duncan explained. "It has recently come to out attention that some scrolls may have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

Alistair nodded his understanding.

"The scrolls contain treaties promising support. Treaties that may prove valuable in the days to come." Duncan elaborated further. Malcolm understood the importance. If the Grey Wardens were in as bad shape as he said they were in Ferelden, then treaties that promised support from others would be beyond invaluable. He looked to Alistair once more. "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly, and safely."

"We will."

"Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return." Duncan said, Alistair turning to the four recruits.

"Alright, you heard him, let's go." He said, leading the pack over to the large, wooden gates that led off into the Wilds.

"Be good for Duncan, alright, boy?" Malcolm asked, scratching behind Clavicus's ears when the dog came up for him to do so.

The Mabari barked affirmatively once, then trotted back to resume his spot next to Duncan, flailing out onto the ground. This settled, Malcolm turned to follow the others.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, so far, we've seen the introduction of Alistair and Wynne. Next we'll see Morrigan and everybody's favorite, Flemeth! Into the Wilds we go!

...hey, that'd make a great chapter title, actually...


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**  
Into the Wilds &amp; The Joining

Taking an animal form was always enjoyable to her. When the Wilds called, she answered. Today, she moved from tree to tree as a raven. Flemeth had told her to stay mindful of the horde, the darkspawn were out and – while they had nothing to fear within their home, the Wilds that she enjoyed frequently were not the so tranquil. As she had seen when she came across a pack of men who were attacking them.

Four warriors and a mage, from the looks of it. All men.

Definitely not Chasind, it seemed. Likely of that war camp that was massing at Ostagar. A scouting party, this far out? No, they had to be there for something else. She saw one...one of the warriors, a younger man with brown hair kneeling down near a wounded man they discovered, another armored as a...'_oh, a Grey Warden!_' The recognized the insignia now that she was close enough to make out the insignias on the breastplates of the warriors. '_What are Grey Wardens doing out so far from the camp?_' She had to wonder.

The answer came a bit later as she saw one collecting the blood of a darkspawn in a vial of glass. '_Interesting..._' She said, observing the men as they sealed the vials and put them away. The warrior in plate – his hair messy and his faced bearded – seemed the leader of the group, directing them to "get what we came for". How curious they were...

She would have to keep watch.

* * *

Malcolm was having a hard time believing the density of the darkspawn around. He honestly would have thought, given how close it was warned that they were to the horde, that there would be many, many more. Those that he had seen, however...there was no doubt in his mind about Alistair's claims of the creatures earlier. They were...hideous. Beyond terrifying even in glance. It had been his natural instinct, within a moment of seeing one, to flee – to get away from the abomination of nature.

He stood firm and tore his way into them, as did the others.

They made their way through the Wilds, heading towards the ruins of a tower that Alistair pointed out from a distance. The fight up the hill was beyond intense, most of the darkspawn taking to ranged weapons that their only counter was Xanatos and Daveth, magic and arrows, respectively. Several arrows of the darkspawn, being of inferior make to the Shield of Highever, made paltry attempts at hitting it and merely glanced off the polished surface.

It was not an easy fight, and he found himself with more than a few knicks and cuts from those he had engaged in bladed combat, but luckily, he had not been so grievously injured beyond repair and a few bandages did him well enough. He could still fight, and he would much before the day was done, he knew.

"Here we are..." He caught Alistair saying, the Junior Warden leading the four recruits up into the ruins of the Tower. Amid the rubble lay a chest, which appeared to have been shattered with time...and by someone breaking in with extreme brute force that had shattered what had once been a very finely made wooden lid.

* * *

Xanatos came up to the chest, pulling the fragments away.

"There's...nothing here..." The mage said, somewhat surprised by that announcement as were the others. He could still feel the echoes of mana coming from the enchantments upon the chest, whole as it had once been. It would have taken someone with no small amount of magical prowess to get it to release its secrets.

"Well, well, what have we here?" A soft, feminine voice spoke up. His head whipped around (as did those of the other four men) to see a woman in black robes, her top cut insanely low to reveal the generous cleavage of her breasts (further excentuated by a golden brooch at her neck) while still keeping her relatively covered. In one hand, she held a staff, though she did not lean against it as she regarded the five. "Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?"

She approached, showing no fear of any of them. In fact, were she not speaking to them, Xanatos thought she might have been giving them no regard whatsoever. "Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" She eyed him down. "What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?" She demanded.

"I would first know who you are, and where you came from." Xanatos said, staring her down for the moment.

"_You_ are the intruder, here." The woman said. "I believe the first question is rightfully mine." She approached even closer now. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go,' I wondered, 'why are they here?'" She passed them, heading over to an arch and during around, facing them. "And now, you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her." Alistair's force made Xanatos look over to him, as did Malcolm, Daveth, and Jory. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"Oooh..." The woman said, threw up her hands mockingly, addressing someone other than Xanatos for the first time. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"Yes," Alistair deadpanned, "swooping is bad."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds!" Daveth hissed.

"Witch of the Wilds?" The woman looked bemused. "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" Her eyes flickered to Xanatos once more. "You there...handsome lad. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine, let us be civilized."

"You can call me Xanatos." Xanatos said, still wary of Alistair's warning.

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish." The woman replied. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

"'Here no longer?'" Alistair spoke up. "You stole them, didn't you? You're...some kind...sneaky...witch-thief!"

'_Our fearless leader, everyone..._' Xanatos thought with disdain over the man who was increasingly becoming a buffoon in his eyes.

"How very eloquent." Morrigan said. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems." Alistair's eyes were narrowed. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for it was not I who removed them." Morrigan said. "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish, I am not threatened."

'_Okay, I'm now liking the Chasind woman more than our fearless leader, maybe I was a little quick to accept the Wardens..._'

"Then who removed them?" Xanatos had to ask.

"'Twas my mother, in fact." Morrigan said simply.

"Is this a joke?" Malcolm piped up from the group, the skepticism of her claim clear in his tone towards the woman.

"If so, it seems the truthful rather than funny sort, no?" Morrigan asked.

"Great." Alistair muttered. "She's a thieving, weird-talking, funny sort of witch."

"Not _all_ in the Wilds are monsters." Morrigan said, having looked away over the swamp, the sun beginning to lower in the afternoon sky, casting light across the many ponds. "Flowers grow, as well as toads..." Xanatos found himself transfixed for a brief moment. That raven hair, that ivory skin, that figu-she was looking back, now. "If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like..."

A chance to meet a powerful spellcaster who _wasn't_ shackled by the Chantry? Xanatos could not deny the idea had certain prospects to it. However, he was not fool enough to be naive about it. If they were powerful, he'd have to keep his head down...at least for a time. Learn all he could by sight and hearing. Even a short time would be something.

"We should get those treaties," Alistair muttered, talking amongst the group, "but I dislike this...Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too covenient."

"I agree." Malcolm said. "But what choice do we have? If her mother has the treaties, then we must go regardless."

"I say we go with her." Xanatos said.

"She'll put us in the pot, she will." Daveth warned. "Just you watch."

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change." Jory put his two coppers in. Like that, Morrigan was on the move again, slinking past them.

"Follow me, then, if it pleases you..." She said, as she passed by Xanatos, then the rest, leaving them in her wake. Xanatos could have sworn, just for a moment, her eyes had flickered over his form, taking him in.

* * *

"Greetings, Mother. I bring before you five Grey Wardens, who-"

"I see them, girl." The elder woman spoke. To Malcolm's eyes, she looked no more unusual than a simple commoner. "Mmm...much as I expected." The woman - standing before a rackety-looking, worn-down shack - was giving the five of them an appraising look that he found most unsettling, and his mind began to entertain Daveth's stories of being put in the pot by witches.

"Are we supposed to believe you were _expecting_ us?" Alistair asked, Malcolm able to pick out clear bravado where the proto-Templar was almost as tense as they were in this situation.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe." Morrigan's mother chided him. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide...either way, one's a fool!"

"She's a witch, I tell you!" Daveth was whispering, worriedly. "We shouldn't be talking to her!"

"Quiet, Daveth!" Ser Jory spoke up before Malcolm had a chance. "If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

"There is a smart lad." Morrigan's mother apparently overheard them, her old eyes looking directly to the pair. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides...believe what you will." Her eyes turned on Xanatos. "And what of you? Do you possess a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as the others do?"

The mage was completely still, looking back into the woman's eyes for a long moment. "I believe you ahve something we need." He said simply, Malcolm seeing a clear and quick calculation of the right words from within his mind. For a split second, Malcolm would have sworn he had seen a look of admiration in the old crone's eyes, but it was not she who spoke next. It was Morrigan.

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother."

"True," Morrigan's mother said, "they came for their treaties, no? And before you being barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these." She had stepped over to a chest near the door of the shack, opening it and producing a case that held several pieces of rolled up parchment. It looked ancient, no doubt the very treaties that Duncan had spoken of.

"You...oh. You protected them?" Alistair sounded genuinely surprised. Malcolm couldn't blame him, being very much on the same wavelength.

"And why not?" The crone asked. She took the case, handing it to Malcolm, who accepted it. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize!"

"Thank you for returning them." Malcolm said, placing the case carefully within his back. It was best, he had decided, to air on the side of politeness until they were safely away. He had not thought much at first but there was something about this woman that made his skin crawl. He couldn't put his finger on it, but...it unnerved him to no end.

"Such manners!" The crone exclaimed. "Always in the last place you look." Without a beat, she looked down at her own feet. "Like stockings!" After a moment, she seemed to become aware of the six other people watching her with looks of annoyance (in Morrigan's case) and confusion (Malcolm and his colleagues). "Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for!" She laughed.

"Time for you to go, then." Morrigan said pointedly to them all.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl." Her mother corrected. "These are your guests."

"Oh," Morrigan's expression flattened into disdain, "very well. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me." Once more, Morrigan was leading the way as they made their way back the way they'd come...and thankfully away from her mother.

* * *

Back at the camp, once they had passed her, Xanatos looked back. Meeting the girl had been...interesting. Her mother, as well, but...something about Morrigan was...intriguing to him. He could not put her from his mind. He wasn't quite certain why, though he was quite certain of the fact that she had been eyeing him up.

He supposed leaving in a shack with one's mother didn't make you a picky sort when it came to men.

However, Morrigan had taken them to the edge of their camp, near the gate. She remained in the swamp, off out of the torchlight and in the distance. When he looked back, before going back in, he could no longer see her. Shaking his head, he headed back into the camp unaware, from the darkness, that a pair of dark eyes were upon him even now...

* * *

"So you return from the Wilds," Duncan was there to greet them, as was Clavicus by the fire they had left them by. "Have you been successful?"

From his pack, Malcolm produced the treaties, giving the case to Duncan. "We have."

"Good." Duncan nodded, accepting the case as he also went to take the four vials of darkspawn blood that had been gathered from the recruits. "I have had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately."

"I am ready." Xanatos said adamantly, that smug conceit sliding back into place.

"Excellent." Duncan nodded to him. "You will need that courage to face what comes next." Malcolm began to wonder what this test took. Clearly it was more than working together as a team to gather darkspawn blood, so what was it? And something that took mages to prepare for? He began to wonder if this was entirely on the level.

"Courage?" Daveth spoke up. "How much danger are we in?"

"I will not lie," Duncan's face was a picture of sympathy, "we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now, rather than later..."

"You're saying this ritual can _kill_ us?" Malcolm asked, apprehensive. He had agreed, and he would undertake it regardless, but he would not go through it unprepared.

"As could any darkspawn you might face in battle." Duncan replied. "You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you had a chance to survive."

"Let's go, then." Daveth said, looking rather twitchy and uncomfortable – more so than usual, anyway. "I'm anxious to see this Joining now."

"I agree." Ser Jory nodded. "Let's have it done."

"Then let us begin." Duncan said, his tone grim once more, he turned to Alistair. "Take them to the old temple." He nodded and gestured for them to follow, the usually chatty warrior deathly silent as he took them to their destination, the very place where Malcolm and Xanatos had found him earlier that day. All was quiet around them, even the lights of the fires burning nearby seemed faroff and distant, casting no light upon the place.

For secrecy, he had no doubt.

Within a few moments, Ser Jory was pacing, nervous as all get out. Daveth faired little better, running one of his arrows between his fingers to attempt to calm himself. Alistair looked troubled, his brow furrowed as he was lost in thought. And Xanatos...

To Malcolm's surprise, Xanatos was a picture of calm.

* * *

'_I must not fear, fear is the mind killer..._' He sat, cross-legged, upon a broken pillar as he repeated the Litany Against Fear to himself. It was an old set of phrases, key to maintaining himself and not allowing the fear to overtake him. In a mage, in particular, fear could cloud the judgement, lead to mistakes, unpredictability. Children in the Circle were taught it from a young age to help them better control not only their magic, but their emotions as well. Some, like Xanatos, took to it far better than others.

'_I will allow it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn my inner eye to see its path. Where the fear is gone, there will be nothing..._'

Malcolm was coming over to him.

'_Only I will remain_...'

"Nervous?" Malcolm asked.

"No." Xanatos replied without opening his eyes.

"Well, I wish I had your control." The warrior muttered.

"It takes years of practice and dedication to perfect." Xanatos said. "But there is no point in being nervous about this or any other test. It will come, I have to face it to the best of my ability, no matter what it is. That is the reality of things."

"Rather bleak, isn't it?"

"_Realistic_." Xanatos's eyes opened to look at his companion. Malcolm looked surprised.

"I suppose so."

"You suppose? It is." Xanatos asked. "You know what will happen, so you simply must prepare yourself for it." Malcolm seemed to consider this, then nodded. '_Perhaps there's some hope for that one yet..._' Xanatos thought before Jory's muttering got loud enough for them to hear.

"The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it." He said.

"Are you blubbering again?" Daveth snapped, clearly not in the best sorts himself.

"Why all these damned tests?" Jory retorted to him, his brow furrowed in irritation. "Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition." Daveth said. "Maybe they're just trying to annoy you." A common tactic when dealing with fear, projection. '_I don't see much hope for that one..._'

"Calm down." Malcolm cut in. "There's nothing we can do about it now."

"I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way." Jory continued in spite of Malcolm's plea for peace. "If they had warned me...it just doesn't seem fair." He shook his head.

"Would you have come if they'd warned you?" Daveth asked, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including sacrificing us?" Jory questioned.

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight." Daveth shot back.

"Will you both shut up?" Xanatos snapped, his calm shattered for a brief moment toward the both of them, giving them quite a glare.

"Yeah, ser knight," Daveth was once more trying to deflect onto Jory, "try not to wet your trousers until the ritual starts."

"I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade." Jory protested, giving no more argument.

"At last, we come to the Joining..." Duncan had come, all in attendance turned to meet his gaze. He walked towards a stone table. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation." He was picking something up from it, a cup. A white cup that took both his hands to hold. "So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood...and mastered their taint."

'_Ah, ha!_' Xanatos thought, though the revelation was not one of triumph. It was...rather frightening to think of. Taking in the blood of those creatures, those unnatural things that made even that Pride Demon look positively cuddly by comparison. To take in their blood...Xanatos reasoned that it made sense, in a way. Partially become their prey to better hunt their prey.

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you." Duncan said, bringing the cup over. "This is the source of our power...and our victory."

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint." Alistair explained to the recruits. "We can sense it in teh darkspawn, and use it to slay the archdemon." Some distant corner of Xanatos's brain was pleased that his theory was correct.

"Let's get on with it, then." Malcolm spoke up, and Xanatos looked to see the warrior was doing his best to maintain a stoic face, but there was clear fear behind it all. For once, the mage couldn't say that he blamed him.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first." Duncan said. He looked to Alistair, whose expression had been solemn since they returned to camp, and did not change here as he spoke.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."

Duncan nodded to him once more, turning with the cup towards Daveth. "Daveth...step forward." The archer, clearly suffering from trepidation, edged forward slightly to look at the dark red concoction in the Joining Cup before he came forward in earnest. He took the cup in both hands, and took a long sip. What happened next was instant and horrifying, the man stumbled back and unleashed an ungodly scream as he clutched his head, jerking upwards to reveal white, pupilless eyes before clutching his throat and falling to the ground, where he did not stir.

"Maker's breath!" Jory exclaimed.

"I am sorry...Daveth..." Duncan's tone was damn near neutral as the man's body settled against the ground. He did not turn to the next in line before he spoke. "Step forward, Jory..."

Ser Jory, brave knight of Redcliffe, was stumbling backwards. "But...I have a wife!" He was drawing his sword. "A child! Had I known..."

"There is no turning back..." Duncan said sternly, coming forward with the cup once more in his hands.

"No!" Jory protested, raising his blade to defend himself. "You ask too much! There is no glory in this!" Duncan had set the cup on the stone table, drawing a wicked-looking dagger from his belt. Both Xanatos and Malcolm watched, horrified, as Duncan lunged forward, blocked a single slash that came from Ser Jory before he drove that blade through his stomach.

"I am sorry..." Duncan looked almost pained as Jory's life flooded from him, pulling the blade away and letting the man fall to the ground where he died moments later. He looked to both Xanatos and Malcolm. "But the Joining is not yet complete..." Sheathing the blade, and ignoring the fact that he had been sprayed with Jory's blood, Duncan took the Cup from the table and brought it over, holding it out to Malcolm this time.

* * *

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the tain for the greater good." Duncan, the man who had seemed so warm and welcoming before, now was frightening Malcolm to his very core. He felt that instinct again that he had felt in the Wilds, to flee the darkspawn. But he knew he would not get far...nor did he wish to leave. He had made a commitment and, like it or not, he would see it through. He took a deep breath before he accepted the cup in both hands. The red-brown liquid within was utterly repugnant, but he did his best to forget the smell and feeling from it as he tipped the vessel back.

It tasted like copper, metallic and utterly comfortable mixed with that same feeling he had had before. Except, now, he could feel it becoming a part of him. Every fiber of his being was being intertwined with this. A strange peace came about him, the fear giving way to it and it, in turn giving way to another feeling. Connection...empowerment...a dark force within him that could be turned to this good.

"From this moment forth," He faintly heard Duncan say, "you are a Grey Warden..." The pain came to his head, he could feel his pupils being overtaken and his vision gave way to...

To...

A _dragon_. No, no dragon. This thing was utterly demonic in its appearance, a twisted abomination of..._the archdemon_. Yes, only the twisted and corrupted form of an Old God could be such a thing as this. It roared, it hissed, it...sung. It was singing to him, in some hideous, crushing tongue that he could not understand. It _saw_ him! And then, the entire world seemed to collapse from beneath him...

When he came to, he saw Duncan and Alistair standing above him.

"It is finished." Duncan said. "Welcome."

"He has awoken, too." Alistair said, looking over to Xanatos, who had likewise fallen to the floor upon taking his own drink from the Cup moments after Malcolm.

"That was...unreal..." Malcolm muttered, feeling himself having to reorient himself. He had never experienced anything like that in his entire life, hoped he would never have to again.

"Two more deaths." Alistair sighed. "In my Joining, only one os us died, but it was...horrible. I'm glad at leas you two made it through."

Duncan looked to Malcolm. "How do you feel?"

"I-It's over...I'm fine." The warrior said, feeling himself coming back to it all now, to the here and now and being able to focus again.

"And you?" Duncan asked, looking to Xanatos.

"That was...worse than the Harrowing." The mage said, but gave no further details.

"Did you have dreams?" Alistair asked them. "I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"I saw a-" Malcolm started.

"Dragon..." Xanatos said, finishing the sentence.

"...yes, that." Malcolm said. "I think, I know it was..."

"The archdemon." Alistair said somberly.

"Such dreams come when you being to sense the darkspawn, as we all do." Duncan was trying his best to reassure them. "That and many other things can be explained in the months to come."

"Before I forget," Alistair said, gathering the attention of the new Wardens once more, "there's one last part to your Joining." He produced two pendants, both of which had a clear glass make and were filled with a red substance that Malcolm knew both he and Xanatos recognized all too well. "We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us...of those that didn't make it this far."

He handed them each one, and they accepted. Malcolm slipped his around his neck, beneath his armor. Xanatos placed his within his robes for the moment, still trying to orient himself.

"Take some time. When the pair of you are ready, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king." Duncan told the two.

"Very well." Malcolm said.

"Please attend as soon as you are able." Duncan said. "To the west, just down the stairs." Malcolm nodded, watching as Duncan and Alistair both headed off.

"What's the Harrowing?" Malcolm asked, looking to Xanatos.

"A test mages must undergo in the Circle," Xanatos said, holding his head, "stop talking. My head still hurts."

"Sorry..." Malcolm muttered.

"I said stop talking..." Xanatos groaned as he closed his eyes clearly trying once more to capture that feeling of calm he'd been showing earlier. Malcolm looked up into the night's sky, a deep breath as he gazed up as the stars, noticing a lone crow that had been resting on the top of one of the archs of the temple flying off.

* * *

**A/N:** Boom, Chapter Six is in the can! Lemme know what you guys think because, next time, it's Ostagar!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**  
Ostagar

He felt changed by the experience. His head swam, but he continued to recite the Litany, centering himself. The mage would not allow himself to be completely decimated by the experience. He was stronger than that. Xanatos had completed his Harrowing with almost no effort this would be no different. He had survived, he was a Grey Warden now. That would have to suffice.

"Come on, we should get going..." Malcolm's voice was ever grating, but Xanatos nodded.

"Yes, let's go."

He got up, finding his feet again and going to follow the warrior who seemed all too eager to head down toward the table in the distance, where Duncan could be seen with Cailan and...another individual.

"...Loghain, my decision is final." Cailan was saying. "I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault."

"You risk too much, Cailan!" The man addressed as Loghain spoke up. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines!"

"Who is he?" Xanatos whispered to Malcolm.

"Teyrn Loghain MacTir of Gwaren." Malcolm whispered back. '_Ah, so a peer of his..._' The mage thought as they approached, listening to Cailan and Loghain argue. He supposed that Loghain _was_ being the more practical one.

"If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all." Cailan said.

Loghain, if only for a moment, looked utterly offended. But then the look faded back into mere irritance. "I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!"

"It is not a 'fool notion'." Cailan shook his head, looking rather cross, a great deal more serious than the man they had seen earlier that day. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past...and you will remember who is king."

"How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!" Loghain shot back, giving a disdainful sigh as he rubbed his forehead.

"Then our current forces wilhave to suffice, won't they?" Cailan asked. He turned, looking to Duncan. "Are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty."

"And these are the recruits I met earlier?" Cailan asked, looking to Malcolm and Xanatos. "The young lord and the mage? I understand congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, your Majesty." Malcolm said, taking a small bow and accepting the words with all the grace and poise due the King.

'_Yes, yes. Bend over for your scraps..._' Xanatos said as he nonetheless gave a short bow that showed more irritation than respect.

"Every Grey Warden is needed, now." Cailan said, cheery as ever. "You should be honored to join their ranks."

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan." Loghain seemed cross as glared daggers back at the King. "We must attend to _reality_."

"Fine." Cailan shrugged. "Speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then...?" He looked over the map that had been spread out on the table, Xanatos recognized it as the battlefield to come, marking the important points of troop movements and so on.

Loghain pointed to a point that had been marked. "You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling my men to charge from cover..."

"...to flank the darkspawn, I remember." Cailan said, nodding. "This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Who shall light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there." Loghain said. "It's not a dangerous task, but it _is_ vital."

"Then we should send our best." Cailan said, looking up once more toward Duncan. "Send Alistair and your new Grey Wardens to make sure it's done."

'_I'm sorry, what?_'

"I'll do my best, your Majesty." Malcolm said.

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much." Loghain said, once more taking to ignoring them as he spoke to Cailan. "Is that truly wise?"

"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain!" Cailan waved him off. "Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they're from."

"Your Majesty," Duncan got the attention of both Loghain and Cailan, "you should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing."

"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds." Loghain replied automatically.

"Isn't that what your mean are here for, Duncan?" Cailan asked, seemingly ignoring Loghain's outburst.

"I...yes, your Majesty." Duncan said, deciding not to pursue it further. Xanatos knew something else was spurring Duncan to speak, but what? He did not have time to wonder before a mage came up to him.

"Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi-"

"We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage!" The Revered Mother had also come, been listening in this whole time and cut the mage off with an icy venom. "Save them for the darkspawn!"

"Enough!" Loghain snapped, his voice raised to get everyone from arguing (and before Xanatos could entertain the thought of lighting the Revered Mother's robes alit). "This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon."

"Thank you, Loghain!" Cailan said. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!" And there, again, was the moron that Xanatos had seen at the bridge earlier in the day. Loghain, too, had the same reaction. He had walked off, shaking his head.

"Yes, Cailan...a glorious moment for us all."

* * *

He had only ever met the Teyrn once before, in Denerim during one of the tourneys a few years ago. Malcolm had only been about sixteen, he doubted that Loghain would have even remembered him. He was the father of Queen Anora, and thus Cailan's father-in-law. He also held a great deal of influence as one of the only two teyrns in Ferelden.

'_Well, the only teyrn now..._' He thought, given how the situation was entirely up in the air until this was over. With any luck, however, he could find Fergus after the battle and this could be set right. Howe would pay and that would be the end of it. And then...serving the Grey Wardens after this Blight was over.

For now, he kept his mind on the now. The battle ahead, they had a task to do from the King. The Tower of Ishal wasn't that far off, getting to it and lighting the beacon when they needed to was not going to be all that difficult. They returned, at Duncan's insistance, back to the Grey Warden fire whilst on their path.

"You heard the plan." He spoke to the three other Wardens gathered. "You will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

"What?" Alistair, having not been at the meeting, was taken aback. "I can't be in the battle?"

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair." Duncan said. "If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs three Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch?" Alistair's tone dripped with sarcasm. "Just in case, right?"

"I agree with Alistair, we should be in the battle." Malcolm said. Even though he would take on the task before him, it didn't feel quite right to sit this out lighting a beacon.

"That is not your choice." Duncan's tone was grim, not an ounce of sympathy could be found. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beaecon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there." His tone was one of finality, too. There would be no argument. "We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn...exciting or no."

"I get it, I get it." Alistair huffed. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line...darkspawn or no."

Xanatos even snickered as Malcolm tried to stifle a laugh and Duncan sighed.

"I don't know." Malcolm said. "That could be a great distraction."

"Me shimmying down the darkspawn line?" Alistair asked, shooting his fellow warrior a grin. "Sure, we could kill them while they roll around laughing." The pair shared a laugh as Duncan sighed yet again.

"The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king's camp." Duncan said once the laughter had died down. "The way we came when we arrived." Malcolm thought back, and he remembered passing the tower on their way in, as Xanatos did as well. The mage was nodding. "You'll need to cross and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley."

"Sounds easy enough." Xanatos finally put in some words.

"We will signal you when the time is right." Duncan said. "Alistair will know what to look for."

"Can we join the battle afterwards?" Malcolm dared to ask.

"Stay with the teyrn's men and guard the tower." Duncan shook his head. "If you are needed, we will send word."

"What if the archdemon appears?" Malcolm dared another.

"We soil our drawers, that's what." Alistair quipped.

"_If_ it does," Duncan spoke up with a legitimate answer, "leave it to us. I want no heroics from _any_ of you." They nodded, and Duncan seemed satisfied. "Then I must join the others. From here, the three of you are on your own. Remember you are Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

Malcolm nodded.

"Duncan." Alistair said. "May the Maker watch over you."

"May He watch over us all." Duncan said, the two sharing a look before Duncan turned to leave and join the king's ranks. With that, the group of three plus the Mabari hound were heading down toward the gorge. Stepping back onto the bridge, night had fallen and, from the south, Malcolm could see movement. Waves upon waves. He realized that this was no body of water coming towards them. It was a horde of...yes, darkspawn. Even from this distance, he could feel their presence, their ferocity...it chilled him to the bone, watching as they slithered from the trees, their mass growing more and more by the second.

They stilled for just a moment, and the charge began.

Another set of waves, the armored troops and powerful mages of the armies of Ferelden that had been gathered were there to meet them. All they could do was hope that the line would hold. He felt a hand on his shoulder, turning to see Alistair.

"Let's move. Quickly." He said. They still had the bridge and the gorge before them. Archers stood on the battlements, firing their arrows, commanders shouting orders over the mayhem as ballistas were moved into position, loaded, and fired. With the distaction broken, Malcolm was returned to his main task, joining his hound and his fellow Grey Wardens in crossing the bridge. Coming quickly to the foot of the tower, the four were greeted by a lone mage and one of the men Malcolm recognized even through the stormy weather as being a soldier of Gwaren – one of Loghain's men.

"You're...you're Grey Wardens, aren't you?!" The soldier was clearly panicked. "The tower! It's been taken!"

"What are you talking about, man?" Alistair exclaimed. "Taken how?!"

"The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers!" The guard answered. "They're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!"

"Then we have to get to the becaon and light it ourselves." Alistair said.

"But there's...so many of them..." The guard was trembling.

"Get a hold of yourself, man!" Malcolm called. "They're beasts, we have a job to do. The king and his men are depending on us!"

"Y-Yes, m'lord." The man nodded, preparing himself.

"C'mon, we must take the tower, get to the top." Malcolm said, drawing his blade and readying his shield. "They've come so far to see us, I see it only fitting we should give them a warm welcome."

"How melodramatic." Xanatos quipped from the side as he, nonetheless, readied his staff.

"Stow it." Malcolm snapped as he headed up the way, leading the charge.

* * *

Xanatos had always thought having magic brought him a little closer to the Maker, rather than being some curse or burden as the Chantry had always taught. After all, no amount of self-righteous religious zealotry gave the Revered Mother or the Templars the power to burn darkspawn to a crisp with the power of will alone.

His willpower was scattered about the battlefield as blasts of lightning, fire, and frost. The warriors did their fighting, their blades slicing and carving their way through darkspawn that surrounded the tower and were flooding in from within.

The few soldiers of Loghain's running about were putting up a good fight, since Malcolm's quick speech had apparently inspired them to action for their king. Xanatos was just inspired to kill more darkspawn. Perhaps it was a side effect of the Joining, but he found the experience of wiping out their kind even more enjoyable than before. Or, perhaps, it was now that he had the chance to use his abilities unrestrained, as he was only too happy to do.

At least until a blast of green light sailed past his head.

'_They can cast magic?!_' He blinked, seeing one of the darkspawn wielding what looked to be some crude staff...and charging mana between its fingers. '_Well, I think it's time to deal with that..._' He moved forward, staff coming around as he raised his, facing the monstrous creature as if he were facing a comrade in a friendly duel.

The blast of green energy came again in a ball that Xanatos summoned up a field of blue-white energy to deflect.

'_Apparently it works well enough on whatever their brand of mana is..._' He thought, his spell of anti-magic successfully dispersing the ball of light before he retorted with a ball of flame that flew from his hand and exploded, knocking the darkspawn mage back as its skin was burned by an impossibly hot flame. He was savoring the victory as the creature lay still that he did not notice the great armored one coming up behind him, wielding an axe.

However, Malcolm had. Xanatos turned in time to see the Cousland slam his shield into the creature's side, toppling it over and saving him.

"...thanks." Xanatos said.

"Don't thank me yet!" Malcolm called over the clamor as his blade pierced the creature's heart, ending its life before it could even begin to rise. "Keep your wits about you!" He watched as Malcolm didn't even stop, moving back into the fray and taking on the next darkspawn. The man moved with the rugged grace the defined the fighting styles of all Ferelden's soldiers that he'd seen, yet even more so than the common fighter.

He quickly remembered he wasn't going to be saved twice (more than likely) and remembered to chide the warrior for distracting him as he got back into the fight.

* * *

The darkspawn flooding from the tower were lessening in number as they headed to it.

"We must get to the beacon!" Alistair shouted as they took the main ramp up to the tower, his sword going through the last darkspawn.

"First, the basement." Malcolm said. When the more senior Warden gave him a look, he elaborated. "The soldier said there were a horde of darkspawn coming from the tunnels below. We need to find a way to close them off."

"There's no time, we-" Alistair began to insisted.

"Okay, we get up there, we light the beacon." Malcolm cut him off. "Do you really relish the thought of fighting our way back down through a teeming horde of the bastards?"

"...good point, yeah. Let's do that." Alistair admitted.

"We can find some way to seal the tunnels, surely." Malcolm said.

"We could set up a ballista down there, perhaps." One of the soldiers called up, hearing the plan.

"Got a much better idea." Xanatos said.

"What?!" Malcolm's head whipped over to the mage, as did those of the others. Xanatos was looking to the other mage, who nodded. He looked back to Malcolm.

"We'll be your ballista." Xanatos said as he charged a ball of flame in his head. Malcolm grinned. With that, the group burst through the tall, wooden doors and into the tower to find another mass of darkspawn lumbering about, no doubt those the soldier had spoken of who had come down from the lower chambers.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair exclaimed as they hopped into the fight. "What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the horde?" He swung around one, his blade blocking two hits before he took it out with a skillful series of slashes. "There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

"You could try telling them they're in the wrong place." Malcolm shot the man a grin as he, too, was engaged with one, his shield blocking some hits and dealing out others.

"Right!" Alistair said as he sidestepped the battle axe of one, his blade coming to slice off the arms at the elbows before taking off the head with a fluid motion. "Because _clearly_ this is all just a misunderstanding. We'll laugh about this later."

"Did you two _ever_ shut up?!" Xanatos snapped, his mana being expended blasting the darkspawn they faced. "Look out!" He cried as suddenly his fire seemed to make the very floor of the room in places burst into flame.

"Grease trap!" Alistair called and the men moved as best they could out of the radius. Two were unfortunate enough to get caught in it, which was less than could be said for the darkspawn who were mindless enough to not care for the warning.

They roasted like insects.

"We need to hurry." Alistair said as Xanatos and the other Circle Mage worked their mana to generate ice over the fire, which was quickly melted into water and doused it. "We need to get to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time. Teyrn Loghain will be-"

"Yes, yes." Malcolm said, waving this off. "Xanatos, you think you can blow that door shut?"

"Where's the tunnel?" Xanatos asked.

"That one leads to the lower chambers, m'lord!" The soldier from earlier, who had survived well after regaining his nerve, pointed it out with his sword. Xanatos and the other Circle Mage quickly headed over, readying their spells. As they did, a new cluster came from the opening and charged.

"Defend them!" Alistair called, charging ahead alongside Malcolm, the others following suite. Between the two of them, Xanatos and the other mage were quickly generating a massive ball of fire that grew more and more in size. The longer the fight went on, swords and shields clashing and arrows whizzing about, the more a strange feeling moved through the room that made Malcolm's hair stand up on the back of his neck.

Magic? He assumed so, given that the ball of magical fire Xanatos and the mage were generating began to pulsate with that same feeling. No...no, it _was_ creating it.

"Move...now..." Malcolm heard his fellow Grey Warden say, and he did not need to be told twice. Both he and Alistair rolled out of the way as Xanatos was lifting the ball just above his hands seemingly by force of will. He turned to the darkspawn who, in a strange moment seemed to stare at it in surprise and awe, seemingly not entirely certain of what they were seeing. Then, it was thrown at them, sailing through the floor and leaving only scorch marks in its wake as it sailed through the air to its intended destination.

It struck the ceiling at the top of the doorframe. The explosion was immediate, a bright light as the stone was shattered and a deafening roar as the ground beneath their very feet began to shake. When his vision cleared, Malcolm could see the archway had collapsed completely.

"That will hold them." Malcolm said, impressed.

"For now, at least." The Circle mage brought up.

"Long enough for us to do what we came for." Xanatos said. "Let's go."

"Yes, quickly." Alistair said, urging them to head up the stairs. As they journeyed up there were, in fact, more darkspawn to be had. The group fought with gusto, making their way to the tower. The darkspawn, now without the regular reinforcements from below, were much easier to pick off and make their way further up...

...and right into the face of a rather frightening looking ogre.

"Scatter!" Malcolm called as the thing charged them, the group moving about. The two soldiers that remained took to bows while Malcolm and Alistair took to a more direct approach, and Xanatos and the other mage began to work their spells from the sidelines to attract as little attention from the creature as possible.

"If I go for its legs, you think you can get it in the chest?" Alistair asked as he moved to avoid being grabbed by the creature's meaty arm, which settled for picking up one of the soldiers firing arrows into its side and flinging him across the room and smack into a wall. Malcolm gazed up at the creature as it moved, seeing the bare chest of it. He was no expert of anatomy, but he knew a direct strike to the creature's neck would end its life.

"I'm on it. Get it." Malcolm nodded. Alistair weaved around a slam of the creature's fist, his blade slicing at its arm and then at its legs, staggering it back. Malcolm leapt forward from some fallen debris, his blade raised high as he thrust it right into the neck of the ogre. Its breath was utterly nauseating, but he managed to avoid voiding the contents of his stomach (meager as they were) all over it as he drew his blade back and thrust it once more into the flesh as it fell backwards.

It collapsed onto the floor with a loud crash, the blade still impaling it. However, as Malcolm pulled it free and raised it for another strike, the ogre made no move to protest. It was, indeed, dead.

"Thanks, Alistair." Malcolm said, moving quickly to free himself and heading for the signal fire with him.

"Don't thank me yet, let's get this fire lit. Quickly." Alistair said as he took some flint and steel and began working them to create sparks. He suddenly leapt back, as did Malcolm, when fire suddenly erupted from the wood and set it aflame.

Xanatos, covered in blood and looking rather cross, had set the signal fire with the flick of the wrist.

"We did it!" Alistair cried a victory cheer. With any luck, Loghain's men would be charging and...and... "what is that?" They heard the thundering of footsteps. Not the battle far distance, but close, and growing closer. They heard the hideous laughter and howls of the creatures. "More darkspawn!" They flooded into the room, even more of them.

'_They must have found a way through the obstruction!_' Malcolm thought as he forced himself back into the fight.

"There's too many of them!" The soldier who had survived for so long with them, since the base of the tower, was the first to be cut down. The Circle Mage was blasted with arrows and fell dead to the floor before he could get a single spell off.

"Hold the line!" Alistair barked over the chaos, and then an arrow pierced his armor, settling into the flesh of his stomach.

"NO!" Malcolm yelled as he ran over to defend his fallen ally. He could feel the heat and smell the burning flesh as Xanatos flung his spells. "Xanatos! We need to move him!"

"A little busy here!" The mage roared as his willpower was sent through the room, blasting the darkspawn that charged. The second soldier of Loghain's fell to the darkspawn blades as they moved into the room. There were more...dozens...maybe more. For every one they cut down, two more were taking its place. "Come on, you bastards! Burn in the Void! Burn in the-"

An arrow pierced through his robes, hitting him right in the center of the chest. "I...I..."

"NO!" Malcolm exclaimed again as the second Grey Warden fell. He quickly moved to put himself between his fallen comrades in the vain hope of saving them. His blade clashed with the axe of another, once...twice...three times, his shield coming up to block it as he jabbed his blade into the creature's flank. It roared angrily at him.

Malcolm Cousland roared right back at him, his shield pulled back just to slam right into its face.

Sadly, it was a manuver that cost him...dearly. His chest unguarded for a brief moment, an arrow pierced his chest. He fell almost immediately to his knees, his head swimming. His vision began to blur as more darkspawn approached...and suddenly began to back away. Malcolm did not have the strenght to turn and see what they had seen behind him...and he did not have to, for she came walking into his field of vision.

'_...it's...Morrigan's...mother..._' The thought dimly passed through Malcolm's brain as he fought against unconsciousness...a battle that he lost as the last image he saw was that old crone looking out to the darkspawn as they fled for their lives from her...

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for all the praise so far, guys. So, that was Ostagar. I hope you enjoyed it, I know I certainly did – especially writing the bits in the Tower of Ishal. Next up, those that remain from Ostagar must recoup and count their losses while attempting to figure out what to do next, and the party will gain some new membership. Stay tuned!

And for everyone who is asking for a Cousland/Morrigan ship, that isn't going to happen, sorry. I have another ship in mind for Malcolm – and you can probably tell who it is by now. So, we will cross that bridge when we come to it, and hopefully it will entertain!

For now, as I said before, stay tuned!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**  
Three Mages, Two Warriors, and One Crazy Plan

His eyes opened. '_Where am I_?' He did not recognize the ceiling. For a brief moment, he considered that he was back home, in the Mages Quarters. That perhaps everything after the Harrowing – Jowan's betrayal, the Joining, and the Battle – had all just been a dream. But that was not the case. He felt a soreness in his body that even the grandest illusions of the Fade could not fake, and validated that he had been through what he'd been through.

He was also, it seemed, _very_ naked.

He sat up, adjusting his eyes to the light before him...candles, accompanied by some sunlight filtered in through half-open windows.

"Ah, your eyes finally open." He remembered her voice, from the Wilds before the battle. Was it even the same day? "Mother shall be pleased." Morrigan stood before him, looking very much as she had the day that he had first met her. It did not make sense to him, for a moment. He remembered Ostagar...the battle...being at the top of the tower...and now...

...now he was, somewhere else. With her.

'_If this is the seat of the Maker, I could get used to this..._' The young Amell thought in spite of his confusion.

"Where am I?" He asked.

"Back in the Wilds, of course." Morrigan said. "I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten, and I have just bandaged your wounds." It was a sign that this was not the Fade, he could tell. Not a dream he was having. The soreness was real and, looking down at his chest, he could see he had been bandaged up a bit. "You are _welcome_, by the way..."

"I...thank you..." Xanatos said, dazed as he was still trying to orient himself.

"How does your memory fare?" Morrigan appraised him. "Do you remember Mother's rescue?"

"She...rescued me? You mean from the Tower?"

"Mother managed to save you and your friends, though 'twas a close call." Morrigan said. "What is important is that you three live." He supposed that meant both Cousland and Alistair. "The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle."

"What?!"

"Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friends...are not taking it well." Morrigan told him.

"My friends? You mean...?" Xanatos asked.

"The other two Wardens, no?" Morrigan asked. "The two young warriors? The suspicious, dim-witted ones who were with you before, yes." '_Okay, so it _was_ the pair of them..._' He thought. "He is oustside by the fire," Morrigan continued, "Mother asked to see you when you awoke." Xanatos looked confused, though he suddenly remembered who Morrigan's mother was. The powerful spellcaster of a sort.

"Why does your mother want to see me?" Xanatos asked.

"I do not know." Morrigan said with a shrug, and a look that told more than she likely intended. "She rarely tells me her plans."

Xanatos nodded, supposing that would have to do. He began to rise. "Thank you for helping me, Morrigan." He said. She was taken aback, apparently quite surprised by this action.

"I...you are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer." She said.

"I will go, then." Xanatos stood up to his full height, seeing that his tunic, leggings, and the Grey Warden robes he had worn in the battle were sitting on a dresser nearby, and had been mended good as new. Indeed, Xanatos could not tell that they had ever had an arrow pierce them. Quickly, he dressed (noticing Morrigan taking more than a few peeks when she thought he wasn't noticing – or knowing he did and not caring), and stepped outside into the bright light of what looked to be midday.

* * *

"Xanatos!" Malcolm didn't think he'd be all that pleased to see the rather snarky mage, but any familiar face at this point was a sight for sore eyes. He had been awoken shortly before Alistair, with Morrigan's mother having gotten to him just as he'd fallen out of consciousness and thus was able to revive him the fastest.

Alistair and Xanatos, however, took a bit more time. Though he spoke very little with Morrigan's mother, he spent some time talking with Morrigan. She had explained that her mother had come to the Tower to seek them, and had saved him, Xanatos, and Alistair from death by the horde. He had remembered seeing her – that old woman in peasant dress scaring off the darkspawn. Had he had the strength then, he would have been more frightened.

He made up for that now by being all the more frightened and even a bit timid around the old crone. However, she seemed to pay him no real notice.

Morrigan had taken him out, brought him to Clavicus (who was only too happy to see him alive), and told him of the outcome of the Battle. Loghain had quit the field and thrown the entire army into disarray. He had deemed it impossible for a Teyrn to betray the crown so! Certainly it was nothing that Highever would have ever done. Had the world gone so mad that only the Couslands were loyal to King Cailan anymore?

Nevertheless, he would worry about that later. At the moment, they had the current situation to consider.

"Alistair!" Malcolm called to the man, standing looking at the pond forlornly. "Alistair! Xanatos is awake!"

"See?" Morrigan's mother was standing not far off, looking to Alistair. "Here is the last of your fellow Grey Wardens. You worry too much, young man."

"I...thought you were dead for sure." Alistair said, looking to Xanatos.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Xanatos rolled his eyes, though winced as he rubbed his robes under which he had no doubt been bandaged as he and Alistair had.

"If Morrigan's mother hadn't been able to heal you, we'd be out of luck." Malcolm said.

"This doesn't seem real." Alistair said. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd all be dead on the top of that tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad." Morrigan's mother spoke pointedly, reminding them all that she was, in fact, still there.

"I...I didn't mean..." Alistair was quick to pull himself out of his mournful daze. "But what do we call you?" He asked. "You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless." The crone waved him off. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

'_Flemeth_?!' Malcolm's blood turned to ice at the name. He knew it, most children in Ferelden knew it, but he knew it even better due to the significance to his clan – the Couslands. Many years ago, a Cousland had been Captain of the Guard for Bann Conobar Elstan. Conobar had had a wife...named Flemeth. She had fallen in love with another, a poet by the name of Osen. Conobar was furious, and tricked Flemeth into come back to see him one last time. He imprisoned Flemeth and had Osen killed, which had caused Flemeth to seek vengeance by calling to spirits of great power. She murdered Conobar.

All of this, roughly having been five hundred years ago.

"_The_ Flemeth?" Alistair asked, eyes widened. "From the legends? Daveth was right...you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth looked non-plussed. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

"If you're Flemeth, you must be very old and powerful." Xanatos said, and Malcolm was almost certain he detected an edge of excitement in his voice.

"Must I?" Flemeth gave the young mage a bemused glance. "Age and power are relative – it depends on who is asking. Compared to you...yes. On both counts."

"Then why didn't you save Duncan?" Alistair brought up, pain palpable in his eyes. "He is...he _was_ our leader." Malcolm knew that Alistair had been close to Duncan, that much was clear from how the two had interacted, but this...it clearly went deeper than he had known.

"I am sorry for you Duncan, but your grief must come later." Flemeth said. "In the dark shadows, before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now." Malcolm remembered that, something his father had said.

'_A Cousland always does his duty_...'

"It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?" Flemeth asked.

"Of course not!" Malcolm replied emphatically. He had nearly forgotten, in all the chaos, of what their goal had been in the first place – killing the Archdemon and stopping the Blight. It still had to be done and, battle won or not, it was still a threat.

"But we _were_ fighting the darkspawn!" Alistair insisted. "The king had nearly defeated them! Why would Loghain _do_ this?"

"Now _that_ is a good question." Flemeth said, looking to him. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." It still made no sense to Malcolm. Loghain Mac Tir was the very definition of what it meant to be Fereldan. He was a patriot, a staunch supporter of the crown, a war hero who had been a leading presence in driving the Orlesians from his homeland. This made no sense at all. "Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The archdemon..." Alistair said, quietly. Flemeth provided him with a curt nod.

"What _is_ this archdemon, exactly?" Malcolm asked, still not quite clear on it. From what he'd heard, it didn't seem like any regular darkspawn. Another question he had meant to ask Duncan...though now, he supposed, he'd never get the chance from him.

"It is said," Flemeth began, "that long ago, the Maker sent the Old Gods of the ancient Tevinter Imperium to slumber in prisons deep beneath the surface. An archdemon is an Old God awakened and tainted by the darkspawn. Believe that or not, history says it's a fearsome and immortal thing. And only fools ignore history."

"We should contact the rest of the Grey Wardens." Xanatos brought up.

"Cailan always summoned them," Alistair said, "they'll come if they can. But I expect that Loghain has already taken steps to stop them." Malcolm remembered from the meeting that Loghain had not been all that happy with the idea of the Grey Wardens, which struck him as odd, given that the Grey Wardens were generally considered to be...well, _heroes_. "We must assume they won't arrive in time."

"Will you help us fight this Blight, Flemeth?" Xanatos asked, looking back to her. Malcolm thought, perhaps, that his mage ally was pushing a little bit too hard. Already, this woman had saved their lives. In his mind, it was best for them to be grateful and then get out from underfoot.

"Me?" Again, she had that bemused look. "I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn."

'_...what?_' In spite of his trepidation at dealing with the woman at all, given what she had just said at length about the archdemon spoke volumes to her knowing far, far more.

"Whatever Loghain's insanity, he obviously thinks the darkspawn are a minor threat." Alistair said. "We must warn everyone this isn't the case."

"And who will believe you?" Flemeth asked. "Unless you think to convince this Loghain of his mistake?"

"He just betrayed his own king!" Alistair was insistent. "If Arl Emaon knew what he did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for his execution!"

"Arl Eamon? The arl of Redcliffe?" Malcolm asked, remembering the man. Another patriot, highly regarded as one of the heroes who saved Ferelden from the Orlesian Occupation.

"I suppose." Alistair said, quieting down somewhat. Malcolm got the feeling that there was more to the story, but Alistair revealed nothing of it. "Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar. He still has all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle. I know him. He's a good man. Respected in the Landsmeet. Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

"Surely there are other allies we could call on." Malcolm said, suddenly remembering...

"Of course! The treaties!" Alistair said.

"But didn't Duncan..." Xanatos began.

"No, he didn't." Alistair said. "He gave them to me...for safe keeping, before the battle. He didn't think..." He shook his head. "Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"

"I may be old," Flemeth said, "but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else...this sounds like an army to me."

"An army..." Malcolm thought. Yes, they could do this. They could surely drum up a force comparible to what Loghain had now, following Ostagar. If there was no way to outmanuver one another, perhaps he would listen to reason and they could work together to stop the Blight.

"So can we do this?" Alistair asked, looking to his two fellow Grey Wardens. "Go to Redcliffe and these other places...and...and bild an army?"

"I doubt it will be as easy as that." Xanatos said.

"You're a shining ray of optimism in our otherwise bleak and dreary lives, you know that?" Malcolm shot him a look.

"It's a talent." The mage shot a sardonic grin right back at him.

Flemeth was laughing. "And when is it ever so easy?" She asked, rhetorically.

"It's always been the Grey Wardens duty to stand against a Blight. And right now, we're the Grey Wardens." Alistair said adamantly.

"So you are set, then?" Flemeth asked. "Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

"As ready as we'll ever be." Xanatos said.

"Now," Flemeth said, "before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you." As if on cue, Morrigan came from within the thatched cottage. They turned, seeing her approach.

"The stew is bubbling, Mother dear." She said, seeming not to regard the three Grey Wardens. "Shall we have two guests for the eve...or none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl." Flemeth told her. "And you shall be joining them."

"Such a shame...what?!" Morrigan turned, her eyes blinking a few times as she gazed back at Flemeth in utter confusion.

"You heard me, girl." Flemeth looked less than amused. "The last time I looked, you had ears!" She burst out into that laughter that made Malcolm's skin crawl.

"Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn't wish to join us..." Malcolm started to say.

"Her magic will be useful." Flemeth cut him off quickly. "Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have _I_ no say in this?" Morrigan asked, her confusion having turned to what seemed more like irritation.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years, here is your chance." Flemeth said. "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"Very well, we'll take her with us." Malcolm said, relenting without further argument (still not finding it wish to argue with a woman who was, by all accounts, _the_ Flemeth).

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth..."

'_Oh, Maker's breath, Alistair, let it go!'_ Malcolm thought, not being close enough to nudge his friend into silence.

"But won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower." Flemeth pointed out.

"Point taken."

"Mother..." Morrigan spoke up again, getting Flemeth's attention. Malcolm could have sworn she looked...scared. Just barely, in her eyes, he could see fear. Something he did not think was all that familiar to her. "This is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready-"

"You must be ready." Flemeth cut her daughter off, this time. "Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

Given what he knew of the legend of Flemeth, Malcolm wondered if that statement were even remotely true. He would not be the first to call upon her to test it, however.

"I...understand." Morrigan did not seem up for further argument.

"And you, Wardens?" Flemeth once more turned and faced the three men gathered. "Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

"She won't come to harm with us." Xanatos piped up, Malcolm turning to look at him with surprise. That had almost sounded..._genuine_.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please." Morrigan said after a moment of silence, turning and heading back to the cottage she had, until then, shared with her mother. Within a few minutes, she returned.

* * *

"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there." Morrigan said. "Or if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

She was captivating...he didn't know why. Didn't _care_ why. Nevertheless, she was here. Somehow, Xanatos found him more interested in her than the walking ancient Ferelden legend that she called her mother.

"No, I'd rather you speak your mind." Xanatos said before either Alistair and Malcolm could speak, both giving him surprised looks that did not discourage his behavior in the least.

Flemeth laughed. "You will regret saying that."

"Dear, sweet mother," Morrigan snapped with an icy venom towards Flemeth, "you are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment."

"Well, I always said if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards." Flemeth was very well practiced, he had observed, in dealing with Morrigan's more...colorful...outbursts.

"I just...do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?" Alistair asked. But he received no answer from Xanatos and the mage could have sworn he heard the sound of a metal foot hitting Alistair's leg as he made a noise in protest. Malcolm had apparently put his foot down on questioning the ancient apostate...even indirectly.

'_Cousland must have more brains than I thought..._'

"Farewell, then, Mother." Morrigan said after a tense moment. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah!" Flemeth snorted. "'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight."

Morrigan swallowed, looking down. "I...all I meant was..."

There was a silence between them, Xanatos looked between the two, then to Flemeth again. For the first time, he saw shades of a far, far more sympathetic woman. He supposed that must be a mother's smile, something he had never really seen, never having known his own. He had been so young when he'd been taken away from his family, brought to the Circle.

"Yes, I know." She said softly. She gave her daughter a warm smile. "Do try to have fun, dear." With that, the infamous Witch of the Wilds turned away, leaving the three Wardens, the young witch, and the Mabari in the small clearing outside her home.

"Well...I believe it was time we were off." Morrigan said. "You have things to do...as do I, it seems."

"Right..." Malcolm said, nodding, Xanatos looking over to see the warrior taking point with that Mabari of his. "Let's get moving."

"Would it not be best if _I_ led the way, then?" Morrigan asked, moving ahead slightly, half-glancing back the mage. "And the handsome one can up here..."

"What? I'm not handsome?" Alistair quipped.

"You said it, not me," Morrigan said, beckoning Xanatos with a finger. The mage gave the other two a smug grin as he headed up, clapping them both on the shoulder as he passed.

"...is it something I said?" Alistair asked, looking rather surprised in the wake of that.

"I don't know." Malcolm said, then tilted his head to look at him. "So why did you think she didn't mean _me_?"

Alistair threw up his hands defensively. Malcolm just grinned and shook his head as he moved ahead with Clavicus.

* * *

**A/N: **Chapter Eight's a little shorter than most, but there you have it. Now we've got two warriors, two mages, and a dog running around Ferelden. What could _possibly_ go wrong? The answers to this question and more coming up in..._this_...


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**  
Fear and Loathing in Lothering

Eventually, their path did leave the Marsh, in spite of the fears of Malcolm and Alistair (it was written well on their faces, even if they said nothing) and they were quickly on the Imperial Highway...or at least what was left of it. Xanatos found himself listening with apt attention as Morrigan was telling him about being a shapeshifter, a craft she had said she was all too willing to teach and one he would find quite useful.

He agreed with Morrigan's desire to protect ancient traditions.

"I'm shocked that you think so," Morrigan said, that genuine surprise flooding her features again, "being a mage of the Circle as you were."

"Well, I never went much for all the fears the Chantry pushed on about magic," Xanatos said, waving this off, "a great deal of rubbish. In unskilled hands, a blade is as worthless as a twig. Same as it is with magic."

"And perhaps you felt a little like a caged bird, as well? Caught within that dark tower?" Morrigan suggested gently.

"Oh, yes. Very much so." Xanatos said.

"I thought so." Morrigan's lips twisted into a self-assured smirk.

"Well, that's certainly quite enlightening, all in all." Xanatos said, bowing his head to her slightly in gratitude. He looked forward to learning more of magic, this particular kind. "Thank you."

"Indeed?" Morrigan asked. "Have you an opinion on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch?" He saw the look she gave, again appraising him.

"Maybe tied to a flagpole and tickled." Xanatos smirked, eyes meeting hers every second. Once more, Morrigan looked surprised and then amused.

"I wouldn't advise it." She said. "But enough of such talk, let us proceed, lest the dust gather on us." He nodded as they pressed on.

"Good, we were wondering when you two were going to get done whispering to each other," Alistair said.

"I suppose next they'll ask us to pass notes for them." Malcolm joked.

"Don't be jealous, boys." Xanatos shot back a smug smirk as his neck craned back to look at them, still walking forward.

* * *

After some time, they reached Lothering...or, at least, the turn off of the Highway that led to the village. Malcolm's eyes caught the group ahead. It looked to be a group of...five, six men. All in leathers, with weapons. They did not have the bearing of soldiers to their steps...no. These were not soldiers...highwaymen?

"Wake up, gentlemen!" The first, shorter than the rest, spoke up as he saw them approach, the others rising to their feet at his words. "We have more travelers to attend to. I guess this one must be the leader?"

'_Oh, goody..._' Malcolm thought, staring the man down.

"Err...they don't look much like them others, you know." The one who _sounded_ as though he were the big, dumb one spoke up. "Uh...maybe we should just let these ones pass..."

"Nonsense!" The leader of the group shook his head at them, and once more turned to the party with a broad smile. "Greetings, travelers!"

"Highwaymen..." Alistair muttered. "Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose."

"They are fools to get in our way." Malcolm overheard Morrigan's whisper. "I say teach them a lesson." Malcolm didn't want to go that route unless they had no other choice.

"Now, now, is that any way to greet someone?" The leader asked. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. A simple ten silvers and you're free to move on." For a moment, no one said anything. Then Xanatos began laughing.

"You're _joking_, right?" The mage asked. Clearly, this had not been the reaction that they had been expecting.

"I...well, I..."

"Xanatos..." Malcolm warned gently.

"No, really." Xanatos either didn't hear Malcolm or didn't care. "You see two armored warriors, a mage, another mage, and a Mabari warhound and your first instinct is 'hey, let's rob these guys!' You're complete morons!"

"Hey, I-" The big dumb one spoke up again.

"Whoa there, lummox." Xanatos snapped, holding up a hand. "You were actually being smart." Hand still raised to the lummox, he looked back to the leader. "You should really listen to your friend, alright? We're not refugees."

"What did I tell you?" The lummox said to his leader. "No wagons...and they're armed!"

"The toll applies to everyone, Hanric." The leader said, and Malcolm could see Xanatos looking all the more amused. "That's why it's a toll and not, say, a refugee tax."

"Ohhh, right!" The lummox nodded suddenly. "Even if you're no refugee, you still gotta pay."

"Yeah...no..." Xanatos said. "That's not happening."

"Well, I can't say I'm pleased to hear that." The leader sighed. "We have rules, you know."

"I have lightning, you know..." Xanatos said, raising his hands, charging an arc of lightning between them. Malcolm once more interceded.

"Go now...you don't want to fight Grey Wardens, do you?" The young Cousland asked, still going for the diplomatic solution.

"Did he say he's a Grey Warden?!" The one called Hanric blinked a few times, his eyes then widening as big as dinner plates. "Them ones killed the king!"

"I _beg_ your pardon?!" Alistair interjected, a glare on his face as he raised a brow.

"Traitors to Ferelden, I hear." The leader said, suddenly twisting around another idea. "Teyrn Loghain put quite a bounty on any who are found..."

"Well...aren't them Grey Wardens good?" Hanric asked. "I mean...really good? Good enough to kill a king?"

"You...have a point..." The leader said, looking back to the mage that was still allowing electricity to arc between his fingers, and the two warriors who had their grips tightly on their blades. "Well, let's forget about the toll. We'll jsut leave you to your darkspawn-fighting, king-killing ways."

"You're too kind." Malcolm replied snidely.

"Yes, well...move along, then." The leader started to move out of the way. "Do enj-"

"Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you." Xanatos had spoken up again, still with the lightning moving between his digits.

"...what? I don't..."

"Tell you what, small time, you've amused me." Xanatos said. "So...I'm going to give you five seconds to drop everything you've taken, and leave. Now."

"...you can't just..."

"He just did." Malcolm said, his hand still gripped firmly on the hilt of his sword. "I suggest you do as he says." The bandits quickly dumped over a chest in which they'd been carrying many sovereigns, as well as some other random gear. "Alright, go on..." The bandits ran past them, taking off in the direction their aggressors had come.

"...five." Xanatos quipped as he turned around, blasts of pure mana bursting from his raised hands as they sailed through the air and struck every single one of the bandits in the back, knocking them all down.

"Xanatos, no!" Malcolm exclaimed, moving forward just as Xanatos released a ball of fire that immolated the men before they could properly rise and continue to flee.

"There...now that's finished." Xanatos said, clapping his hands together as if brushing off dust or grime.

"They were _running away_!" Malcolm protested.

"You didn't think they were just going to head further down and torment refugees down there? Grow up, Cousland." Xanatos rolled his eyes. "Come on, we need to go."

"Did anyone else catch what he said?" Alistair asked. "About Teyrn Loghain and the bounty on the Grey Wardens?"

"We all do have _ears_, Alistair." Morrigan gave him a dismissive glance.

"I'd like to find him," Malcolm said, "and maybe have a frank discussion about it." So not only had Loghain betrayed Cailan at Ostagar...but now, he was trying to blame the Grey Wardens...such as they were.

"For once, we agree on something..." Xanatos said.

"Hang on..." Alistair said, having knelt down near a body at the side of the highway. Malcolm recognized the armor as that of a Templar. "A Ser Henric, knight of Redcliffe." He said.

"How do you know that?" Xanatos asked.

Alistair held up a crumbled up note. "He also had a locket...if he's from Redcliffe, we might be able to find his next of kin."

"And shall we go save some kittens from trees while we're at it?" Xanatos asked, earning a laugh from Morrigan and eye rolling from Malcolm.

"Do you actually _care_ about anything?" Malcolm asked.

"Yes. Stopping the Blight. Which is our job." Xanatos said. "Everything else comes second. Or in that case, _never_." Before Malcolm could argue further, Morrigan moved between the pair of them, raising a hand.

"If I might break up the argument," Morrigan said, "I highly suggest the three of you find armor less conspicuous of your alignment."

"...what do you mean?" Malcolm raised a brow, looking down as Morrigan tapped a finger to his breastplate, whereupon was the standard of the Grey Wardens. "...right..."

"The bounty..." Xanatos said, realizing.

"Quick, let's head over that way..." Alistair said, gesturing to the cover of some fallen wagons. "Perhaps we can find armor in Lothering." The three men quickly, one by one, adjourned to the space and quickly pulled themselves from their Grey Warden granted armor. Malcolm and Alistair were left down to a simple weave tunic and leggings, and Xanatos his old Circle robes. The armors were left behind in one of the craters, buried then under one of the fallen wagons.

* * *

"Well, there it is," Alistair was saying a bit later after they'd redressed themselves and were heading for the village, "Lothering. Pretty as a painting." Xanatos thought it must not have been that pleasant of a painting, then.

"Something on your mind, Alistair?" Malcolm asked. '_Oh...lovely...give him more leave to talk._'

"His navel, I expect." Morrigan made her snide remark of the moment. "He certainly has been contemplating it long enough."

"Oh, I get it!" Alistair said suddenly, returning with his own snark. "This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life." Xanatos turned to him, giving him a look that could have cut through steel.

Morrigan had her own rebuttal, however. "I can be friendly when I desire to. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."

"_Anyway_." Alistair said, looking back to Malcolm with some irritation at Morrigan's words. "I thought we should talk about where we intend to go, first."

"You have some thoughts on that point?" Malcolm asked.

"This should be good..." Morrigan smirked.

"I _think_ what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties..." Alistair looked between Malcolm and Xanatos. "Have either of you looked at them?" Both Xanatos and Malcolm shook their heads, Xanatos not rightly remembering having seen Duncan remove them from the case they had been placed in so long ago. "There are three main groups that we have treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi."

'_Oh, great...home again, home again...maybe I'll get to annoy Greagoir..._'

"I also still think Arl Eamon is our best bet for help." Alistair continued. "We might even want to go to him _first_..."

'_Well, he's certainly making his opinion known._'

"What do you think we should do, Morrigan?" Malcolm asked.

"Go after you enemy directly," Morrigan said without a moment's hesitation when asked, "Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety."

"Oh, yes!" Alistair snorted. "And he _certainly_ wouldn't see _that_ coming! And it's not like he as the advantage of an army and experience and-"

"I was asked for my opinion and I gave it!" Morrigan snapped, cutting him off, apparently a talent she had cultivated well from her mother. "If you wish to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us."

"We'll...figure it out as we go. C'mon." Malcolm said, gesturing back towards Lothering.

* * *

"I need a freaking drink..." Xanatos muttered as they made their way into a tavern, Dane's Refuge. The group had just had a discussion with a templar who had been minding the way into the village. Apparently, the bulk of the army had fled _this way_ when they'd come from Ostagar...which was to be expected. But there was no room for them here and they would have to move on.

First, Xanatos was determined to have a drink of something that _hadn't_ been distilled by the Circle. He had to assume the commoner's swill had to be something special for the Circle to literally have to brew their own.

After his first sip, he suddenly had an urge to head back for the Circle brew.

"We need to work on our plan." He said, nonetheless still trying to figure out what they were to do.

"I'm thinking." Malcolm snapped, more than a little aloof as Xanatos could tell – to the man's credit – that he was trying to work things out.

"And you're the only one of us who can do that?" Xanatos asked. "Who in the Void put _you_ in charge of our merry little band?"

"I'm sorry, I haven't exactly heard you offer up much advice, mage." Malcolm snorted. "Besides trying to snake your way into Morrigan's robes."

"Jealous?" Morrigan smirked.

"I really think you're hardly qualified to be giving us orders." Xanatos said. "If anything, Alistair should be the one leading us, shouldn't he? He _is_ the most senior Grey Warden..."

"Grey Warden?" A voice came up before Malcolm could snap at him to keep his voice down, especially in light of what they'd recently heard. Alas, it was too late...and a few men bearing the standard of Gwaren on their armor approached them. "Well, look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed."

"...this can't be good..." Alistair muttered.

"Didn't we spend all morning about about some people of their descriptions?" One of the men spoke up. "And everyone said they hadn't seen them?"

"It seems we were lied to..." The lead man spoke up, giving them hungry looks that were most unsettling to Xanatos and, he was sure, to the others.

* * *

"Gentleman..." The accent was Orlesian. _Very_ heavy Orlesian. The woman it came from was a redhead, and a Chantry Sister by the look of it. At her belt was a single shortblade and, on her lips, a warm smile. "Surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

"They are more than that." the commander of the small group of Loghain's men snapped at her. "Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them."

"Let's talk about this before things get out of hand." Malcolm supposed he would try and use some of his bloodline-granted diplomatic talents, if such a thing were even possible at this point. Fergus could pull it off, he knew. He had to think like his older brother, and fast.

"I doubt he will listen," The red-headed Sister turned a pair of bright, blue eyes his way. "He blindly follows his master's commands." Looking at the man, Malcolm couldn't argue. The man was a soldier, not a thinker.

"I am not the blind one!" The man roared. "I served at Ostagar, where the teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens' treachery! I serve him gladly!"

"Then you're blind _and_ an idiot." Xanatos snorted derisively, adding fuel to an already raging fire.

"Enough talk!" The leader snapped again, he and his men going for weapons. "Take the Wardens into custody. The whole party. Kill the sister and anyone else that gets in your way." Malcolm sighed as he pulled his blade from its sheath, barely having time to bring his shield – the only armor he had now – up to defend a strike from the commander's blade.

The people in the already crowded tavern scrambled for cover as the fighting broke out. Xanatos and Morrigan both were already filling the room with an insane amount of smoke and heat from their spells, While both Malcolm and Alistair were doing their best to fight and take down their opponents with minimal armor. Clavicus was doing just as Mabari did, tearing at his opponents to bring them down to their level.

And then...there was the Sister.

No armor, no shield. Only a single blade, and she was holding seasoned warriors under the employ of a teyrn at bay. No, more than that...she was pressing the advantage. Hard. Anyone who came across her blade found a damn-near unbreakable defense...and a fiercesome offense being sent right back at them. The speed she was moving at, her footwork, it was all utterly incredible!

In the chaos, she was a model of complete grace and poise. '_Impressive_.' He thought in a brief pause between downing one of the soldiers and then bringing on a feint to misdirect and then take down another.

By the time it was finished, there were several men on the ground, the bar had had a few thrown over it, and no less than two tables had been smashed.

And now, the Commander was a far, far more relenting and apologetic figure, holding up his hands in surrender before the six individuals who had wiped the floor with him and his men.

"Alright! You've won! We surrender!"

"_We_?" Xanatos was laughing. "You're the last man standing!"

"Good," the Sister said with an almost eerie cheerfulness about her, "they've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now."

"What?!" Xanatos snapped, but Malcolm raised up a hand to silence him.

"Take a message to Loghain." Malcolm said, turning on the commander.

"W-what do you want me to tell him?" The commander cowered before the Wardens.

"The Grey Wardens know what really happened." Malcolm made sure the man kept meeting his gaze, making sure he got every word. By this point, the blood-stained man was nodding his head, sheer horror ruled his visage as he gazed back at him.

"I'll tell him. Right away. Now. Thank you!" The commander started off, running from the tavern.

"Oooh, Cousland! Such a dark streak from you!" Xanatos sounded almost impressed. Malcolm just shook his head. The Sister then turned to them, starting to speak, when a loud voice interrupted.

"Excuse me!"

They all turned, even Clavicus, to see the tavernkeeper, standing up shakily from behind the bar. "I don't want any trouble...and I'm not going to point any fingers...but could you all please _leave_..._now_?!"

"I'm sorry, Ser, I-" Malcolm started to say.

"_OUT!_" The tavernkeeper barked pointing for the door as his staff were working to either revive the unconscious men or gather up the bodies, depending on who was nearby. Malcolm gestured for the others to go, and they moved without causing further issue...they had already made enough of a mess of the place.

Once outside, the Sister looked to them again, speaking.

"I apologize for interering, but I couldn't just sit by and not help." She said.

"It's alright," Malcolm said, then added teasingly, "I was happy to save your life."

"Save my life?" The Sister raised a brow, looking amused. "I assure you, I can handle myself."

"So I see. Where does a Sister learn to fight like that?" Malcolm asked her, curious. She had been..._amazing_ to say the least. Weaving and flowing through the battle as though it had been second nature to her. It was also important to note that her robes were now covered in quite a bit of blood that was not hers.

"I wasn't born in the Chantry, you know. Many of us had more..._colorful_ lives before we joined." She replied. "Let me introduce myself, I am Leilan, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering...or I was."

"I am Malcolm. A pleasure." Malcolm said, bowing slightly (and taking note of a click of the tongue from Xanatos, possibly from annoyance).

"Those men said you're Grey Wardens. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?" Leliana inquired, looking as though she were checking the bath water before hopping in unceremoniously.

'_Oh, Maker's breath, what I wouldn't give for a hot bath..._' He thought absentmindedly, but returned to the situation at hand.

"I know after what happened, you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along." For a moment, nobody said anything. They were completely silent, all eyes were upon Leliana as though someone were expecting her to say 'Just kidding!' or something of the like, but it never happened, and she just stood there, looking as cheerful as ever.

"Why are you so eager to come with us?" Malcolm asked, finally.

"The Maker told me to." Again, silence...save for Morrigan, who scoffed. The Maker...who had not been on the face of Thedas before anyone in living memory, and who the Chantry preached had long ago abandoned his creations for parts unknown and unknowable to mortal senses.

"Can you...elaborate?" Malcolm asked.

"I...I know that sounds...absolutely insane, but it's true!" Leliana said, looking down for a moment, clearly gathering her strength before she met his eyes again. "I had a dream...a vision."

"More crazy?" Alistair quipped. "I thought we were all full up."

"Look at the people here." Leliana said, either not having heard Alistair or not caring to. "They are lost in their despair, and this dakrness, this chaos will spread." She gestured around to those huddled around in makeshift tents or even out in the open air around fires, refugees from all the darkspawn had destroyed. There was hardly a safe place to step without risking stepping on someone, so crowded was the town. "The Maker doesn't want this."

"What you do, what you are meant to do, is the Maker's work." Leliana said, looking back to Malcolm once more. "Let me help!" Malcolm looked at her for a long moment and he could find no lie in her eyes. Even if her words were not true, _she_ believed them. And she seemed perfectly genuine. She _wanted_ to help. And he would not turn away help when it was offered. They were with few allies now.

"Very well." Malcolm said, nodding to her.

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought." Morrigan muttered. Malcolm wasn't listening.

"Thank you!" Leliana seemed delighted, and even a little relieved. "I appreciate being given this chance. I will not let you down." With that, their new ally headed out with them back across the stone bridge that seperated one half of the village from the other. "If we will go by the Chantry, I will collect my things." Malcolm agreed – hearing a few muttered remains of Xanatos's – and they were off back to the Chantry.

As they crossed the bridge once more, they spotted a small redheaded child looking somewhat panicked.

"Have you seen my mother?" The boy asked, coming up to Malcolm.

"Your poor thing." Malcolm said, dropping to one knee slightly so he was more at the boy's eye level, more comforting, less imposing. "Did you and your mother get separated?"

"The mean men with swords came, and mother told me to run to the village as fast as I could, so I did." The boy said quickly, feeling the need to explain. "She said she'd be right behind me, but I've been waiting and waiting and I can't see her!" The boy was on edge, clearly had been crying for a bit from the looks of his reddened cheeks, but it seemed that had passed him at least for the moment.

"Oh..." Malcolm heard Leliana say softly, but said no more. She apparently feared the same as Malcolm did: the mother was not going to show up to get her child.

"Do you know where your father is?" Malcolm asked, taking a shot in the dark.

"He went with William to the neighbor's yesterday, but he didn't come back." The boy said, which only maade Malcolm's heart sink that much lower for the boy. His parents having been cut down by Howe's men was one thing, but...this was a boy...a _child_...

"Come with me." Malcolm said, thinking to take the boy up to the Chantry, where they might be able to get some help for him. "We'll help you look for your mother."

"Mother said I wasn't to go with anyone." The boy said somewhat stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm supposed to wait for her here in the village."

"Come on," Malcolm insisted again, "let's go to the Chantry. Someone will look after you while you wait, alright?" He watched for a moment as the boy was clearly thinking it over, the wheels turning in his mind before he finally nodded his agreement. "Alright, go on..." He said, giving a smile as the boy moved ahead of the group, going toward the Chantry building.

"You handled that quite well." Leliana said, coming up as the boy took off.

"I sympathize with him..." Malcolm said, watching the small figure trudge his way toward the Chantry. "...a lot." Any more discussion on the subject was stopped when they heard raised voices nearby...a Chantry Sister was arguing with a man in the threads of a commoner.

"Back off!" The man shoved the Sister back. "I have the right to charge what I wish!"

"You profit from their misfortune!" She snapped back at the man, apparently non-plussed by his shoving. "I should have the templars give away everything in your carts!"

"You wouldn't dare!" The man glared daggers at her. "Any of you step too close to my goods and I'll-"

"Really? You're going to fight templars? With what? Your tongue?" Xanatos snorted from the back of the group as he approached. "Even I know that's monumentally stupid."

"It's so nice to see everyone workin together in a crisis!" Alistair added to the pile of snark they were working on. "How it warms the heart!"

"Ho! You there!" The man turned, looking to the group. "You look able! Would you care to make a tiny profit helping a beleagured businessman?"

"Is your profiteering ruffling some feathers?" Malcolm asked, joining his fellow Grey Wardens in the snide remarks.

"You could say that, yes." The man said.

"'Tis merely survival of the fittest..." Morrigan said, though it seemed no one was paying her much mind.

"The _nerve_ of these people!" Alistair said in mock-anger, clearly less than pleased at the shopkeeper's actions.

"He is charging outlandish prices for things people desperately need!" The Sister spoke up. "Their blood is filling his pockets!"

"There have been so many of these men, lately." Leliana said. "Heartless opportunists, all."

"I have limited supplies." The shop keeper insisted. "The people decide what those supplies are worth to them."

"_You_ bought most of your wares form these very people last week!" The Sister pointed a bony finger in accusation. "Now they flee for their lives, and you want to talk business?"

"Look, stranger. I've a hundred silvers if you'll drive this rabble off, starting with that priest." The shop keeper insisted, pointing over to her. "I'm an honest merchant, nothing more."

"Merchant, yes. Honest...debatable." Malcolm said. "You don't think you're being unscrupulous?" Lothering was normally not a village so packed. Leliana's statement made sense, the place was ripe for the picking by opportunists, though who fed off the misery of others. The world could have done with a few less of those.

"Would it help these folks if they could buy no goods at all?" The man shot back.

"They spent their very last coin because they are desperate." The Sister insisted. "And this man preys upon them as surely as the bandits outside the city!"

"Bah!" The man threw up his hands. "Look, I'm not arguing anymore! Drive off this woman and get yer hundred silvers! Otherwise, I'm taking my wagon and leaving!"

"I think you can compromise and still make a profit, no?" Malcolm asked, attempting to work out the situation through words.

"Perhaps...if that woman agrees I'm allowed to charge _something_..." The man said, glaring at the Sister.

"Do what you must." The Sister relented. "So long as the prices do not beggar the needy."

"Fine, fine. Done." The shopkeeper sneered, sighing in irritation. "And since you don't look needy, normal prices for you." He went back to his wagon, the Sister thanked them and hoped that the Maker would watch over their path. With that, the group quickly did make sure of the merchant, purchasing some suits of fine chain and scale for both Malcolm and Alistair – respectively - to replace their Grey Warden armor (not as good quality, but it would suffice).

"I believe our next stop is the Chantry, then?" Malcolm asked.

"Indeed." Leliana said, turning as she lead the way up to the building.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, don't worry, Lothering adventures are far from over. Well, not _far_ per se...but we've got at least one more chapter before we have to worry about...


End file.
